Contact
by Paintedreality
Summary: Kitty Pryde's birthday set sparks among the residents of the X mansion. Things are changing for the Xmen, and nothing is as easy as it seems. Rogan and others. Now complete xxx PaintR
1. The invitation

Author's note: I am taking the films as canon, with bits of the comic for flavouring; only I am changing the order of some events, the "cure" for the mutant condition is already out there, but Logan's still off searching for his past… My laptop is my Tardis! (The way I figure it, in real life all the action happens at once, then dies down to leave you twiddling your thumbs…)

I apologise for "Real Life" taking over from this fic, but, rest assured, I have been thinking about the fic, writing some more, and just today (well yesterday now) I found a beta! So, I would like to say a very big thank you and offer many huge hugs to the very spiffy Hannah for her prompt, helpful and thorough service.

I am reposting the original chapters to take account of beta-ing and a few plot developments that I had not foreseen when I originally began to write but which now demand attention. Posts of subsequent chapters will depend on reviews, the fic has been written and beta read up to chapter 10, and the rest is currently "in progress", but I won't post unless there's someone out there (other than me and Hannah) who wants to read it.

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

For those of you who do read, I hope you enjoy it!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter 1) **

Rogue sat on her bed cross-legged, her sketchbook resting on knees clad in dirty jeans. She was working on one of the scenes from her other memories. She thought it was one of Magneto's, she was getting quite good at sifting through the chaos which often invaded her brain; drawing helped. She had, over the years, managed to purge most of the memories from that fatal first kiss, on the day her mutation manifested itself. Under her bed there was a full folder of sketches and journal entries of Cody's memories, neatly tied up with string. She had, so to speak, closed that particular book soon after she came to the mansion, with the Professor's help. The other, less dusty, files under the bed had been more recent, and rather more problematic; the memories they contained had impacted so strongly on Rogue that they still affected her, even though not all of them entered her dreams.

The Professor's partial mind block had helped, and it was only the two older men who had any sort of serious presence in her mind now. It wasn't like they were sharing her mind, unlike the blocked off personality that had briefly inhabited her body, more like they had poured personality, memories and experience into her mind, without an accompanying identity. It gave her a new perspective. The Erik-ness inside her made her sceptical and cautious, fortunately balancing some of the recklessness Logan had given her, along with a penchant for cigar smoke. They had also left some vestiges of their powers, being pushed to the verge of death seemed to do that, as well as pushing someone else over it. She couldn't manipulate metal, but she could sometimes sense it, and Logan had given her better eyesight, hearing and smell. Probably a result of multiple contacts, he saved her life so much with his healing ability. She was glad about the eyesight; at one point she had thought that she might need glasses, but not anymore. The smell wasn't so great. It drove her to be slightly obsessive about bathing at times. Another side effect of the Logan inside her was that it served as an aching reminder that her crush on Logan had developed into something more; maybe not true love, exactly, but she understood him more, and she knew that he understood her better than anyone else at the Institute. She reached up from her sketch quickly to adjust the dog tags around her neck.

The charcoal drawing grew as she worked on it, files of dirty people, and mud. The perspective was off, and she wasn't good at drawing close-ups of ankles and shoes. She threw the pad of paper across the room in frustration, and wiped her smeared fingers on her jeans. The memory, like so many in her mind, was profoundly troubling. She closed her eyes and focused inwards, trying to find meditative clam. She breathed in for the count of five, and out for seven, as Ororo had taught her as a way to reduce stress.

She didn't notice that Kitty was in the process of phasing through the wall between her room and the one Kitty shared with Jubilee until Kitty knocked on the wall. Rogue looked up, to see the bizarre image of a hand rapping back on the wall it had come through. "Y'all can come in, Kitty," she said. She had, this time, at least had the decency to knock. There was always a possibility that Kitty would walk in on something embarrassing, or end up in contact with Rogue's skin when she wasn't concentrating. Kitty emerged and sat down on the windowsill, picking up Rogue's sketchbook on the way, and flicking through it. "This one's new," she said, holding up the picture of mud, "Doesn't look too nice, the subject that is, not the art!" she added hurriedly.

Rogue looked up at her and nodded "I hate it, but then so did Erik, whatever it is." Rogue stared into space, and then smiled wryly at Kitty. "It's getting me down, yah know? Ah'm not just walkin' a mile in his shoes, ah'm dreamin' all of his memories. It makes it tricky ta keep him as Magneto when ah think about him, he's just this wounded orphan."

Kitty flipped back through the sketchpad. "You've got a point. This stuff is just so depressing."

At this point Jubilee walked in through the door, which was ajar. "Well, Kitty and I have some thing that might cheer you up, don't we?" She looked across to Kitty. "And I don't know why you can't just use the door Chica, it's hardly far to walk, only next door!"

Kitty stuck her tongue out at the brightly clad Asian girl; her long yellow jumper reached almost to her knees over her black cycle shorts revealing tanned legs. Jubilee parked herself on the chest at the foot of Rogue's bed, aware that their friend was not covered up - she was only wearing a camisole top, and also that she was uncomfortable with too much proximity anyway. She snatched one of the window seat cushions away from Kitty who made a soft sound of protest as she re-settled herself.

"What's up?" asked Rogue, her voice still strongly laced with a slow southern drawl, as she flicked her white locks back out of her face.

Kitty squeaked as Jubilee started to speak in lecturing tones, her face alight with suppressed laughter. "Well, as you are no doubt aware, the kitten's birthday is on Saturday…"

"Ah didn't know that!" lied Rogue, picking up some of Jubilee's good humour, looking at Kitty who threw a cushion at her in a fit of pique.

"You SO did!" she shrieked, and glared at Rogue, who blew her a kiss.

"'Course ah did, ya baby!" Rogue threw the cushion back, and Kitty phased out to let it bounce off the wall behind her to fall on the carpet.

"Ahem!" coughed Jubilee, her jade-green eyes flashing "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, Kitty will, on Saturday, be completely and utterly legal, and we thought it would be cool to go out to that club in town that Bobby and the others like."

"And we need to ask you first 'cos you're our bestest friend, and you wouldn't want me to cry, and we'll have such fun and, well please, I've never been there before and it's my birthday and if you come with I'll count that as my present from you and love you forever even though I already do!" Kitty pleaded, her soft voice growing squeaky with excitement and shortness of breath by the end.

Rogue stared at her. "Ah'm amazed that you managed to say all of that without passin' out," she mused softly, hugging her knees. "You know ah don't like crowded places, and ah hate coverin' up all that much when it's gonna be so warm."

"Come ON!" pleaded Kitty "I'll buy you a new body stocking! And you've got control now anyway! We have to go out for my birthday, it's not like you've not been there before!"

That's why ah don't wanna go, Rogue thought miserably.

The last time she has gone out she had been revelling in her new-found control, recklessness outweighing caution and was less covered up than usual, wearing only a short sleeved top, and a skirt. That was where the problem lay. She had been with Bobby and John a few of the older students. The music at this place was great, they had been a few times; classic rock and heavy metal, spiced up with the pick of the rest, just as Remy had said "Dat DJ be deservin' a medal, no?"

There had been a crowd of single guys there, celebrating something. She had been to the bar to get a drink, when one of the strange guys had forced his way to the bar and leered at her. "Hey hun, wasshup?" he had slurred at her, the offensive odours of his sweat, alcohol and stale breath almost made her gag. As his arm flopped close to her own she edged to her left, away from him, and took her black lacy gloves from her pocket sliding them on as fast as she could.

The guy had stared at her hands. "Thoshe are sho sexy," he murmured, reaching for her hand. As she stared at him he put his arm proprietarily around her shoulders "Do you have shome matching shtockings?" he hiccupped and grinned at her, as if he had made the funniest joke in the world. She felt trapped by the smells, his arm and the darkness, as the lights had dropped and the black light came on. She could see Bobby in the distance, it was as if he was standing in his own personal dry ice machine, as he played with his powers, unconcerned by the public nature of the club, after all, most people here were at least ambivalent towards mutants, if not actively pro-mutant.

She wriggled under the confining arm, as she almost bit her tongue from the effort it took to control her poison skin. She envied Bobby his control and how comfortable he was with his powers, comfortable in his skin she thought sadly with a tiny part of her mind that wasn't screaming with claustrophobia.

Rogue turned her attention back to Mr. Drunk-and-Disorderly; even if she had wanted to hurt him, she would have controlled her skin, there was no way she wanted any of that mentality in her skull. "Beat it," she growled at him, using some of Logan's experience in order to appear threatening as she flung his arm from her neck, her thumbnail digging into one of the pressure points of his wrist. He backed away from her, hands raised "Shorry Miss Moody!" He muttered as he went to rejoin his friends. Finally, her coke had arrived, and she made her way as quickly as she could to her friends.

Bobby turned as she approached, her arrival was evident from the way her white locks of hair were lit up by the UV light, and said something under the roar of the noise. She leaned in closer to hear him. "I said, 'Are you all right?'" he yelled into her ear "You've put your gloves on."

She put his mouth to his ear "Ah'm fine, just some drunk tryin' ta get it ahn with me, ah think he took the hint." Bobby nodded, and smiled, and started dancing with her and Remy. "It's so hot in here!" she moaned, fanning at the back of her neck. Bobby grinned and held out his hand, a lump of ice formed in it. She snatched it and held it to her face with a smile. It was so nice to be friends with Bobby, a true metro, who could dance with another guy without looking stupid, and who was still her friend even if they weren't going out.

It was quite a lot later, and Rogue was starting to think about going home, when the drunk guy from earlier came over, towed by a friend or six. The guy in front came up to them, and looked at Rogue. "Hey there cutie," he said, his voice angry, blowing cigarette smoke and smell all over her. "Pete here says you blew him off. That's not very nice. I'm sure you can manage to play nice…" He grabbed her by the arm, fortunately where the skin was covered by her long gloves, and dragged her forwards against him. He ran his free hand down Rogue's front, tracing her breasts through the thin top, before sliding his hand down to her waist, and then her bottom. John spotted what was going on, and forced his way over to Rogue, Bobby and Remy in tow.

"Get off!" Rogue shrieked, tears streaming down her face, managing to break free of his grasp, backing away as he closed in on her. "Don't touch me!" She yelled, desperately trying to keep her mind unpolluted by this guy's perverted thoughts and her body free of his wandering hands.

Bobby and John stepped in front of Rogue, protectively. "Shove off," Bobby said as softly as possible to be still audible under the loud music.

"Why, mate? Is she yours?" he leered, just as Pete did from behind him. The others of their crowd just hung back, looking and smirking,

"That's none o' your gawd-damned business, asshole!" shrieked Rogue, tear stains evident on her cheeks as she lunged out aggressively from between and behind the two boys.

The asshole replaced his cigarette in his mouth, and lunged out and grabbed her by the arm again, but this time holding her upper arm, where her skin was bare. "Aagh! Let go!" she cried, "Ah can't control it any more!" True to her word she felt the…pull… of skin on skin, but she couldn't break away. Remy, who was fortunately wearing a long-sleeved shirt, snatched Rogue from behind, enveloping her in something between a bear hug and a rugby tackle. The asshole almost fell over, hunched up, coughing. "Damn mutie freak!" he yelled at her. She broke out of Remy's grasp, uncomfortable being held close by any man, or woman for that matter, and the Cajun wasn't the kind of man she wanted to be held by, even if the kind of man who was happened to be half the continent away exploring Canada to find his past.

"Pervert!" she snarled back. "Get out of mah head, Richard, ya gawd-damned misogynistic pig!"

John came up from the other side of the dance floor, and stared at Richard. "You should be more careful around here; you never know who you might insult. Or," he added looking down at the teen with as smile twisting his lips "when a smoking situation's going to ignite." John smiled as he drew the fire from the cigarette, the whole thing flaring into a ball of fire which John left hanging in the air, before chasing the gang of boys back out of their way with it.

"Chasin' em wit it in public, John? Dat be too much." Remy said, as Bobby nodded, and put out the cigarette, and the gang of guys scattered. "As, Remy is thinkin', is dat cheesy one-liner." He turned to Rogue, "Is you ok, Cherie? Remy be thinkin' it be time we get goin'." The others nodded in agreement.

"Please, Rougie?" begged Kitty, snapping her back to the present. Rogue shuddered at the memory and looked down at Kitty who had dropped to her knees on the floor, staring up at Rogue, her hands clasped together as if she was praying. Jubilee just sat there.

"Ah guess ah will come, but ah'll cover up, and ah expect y'all ta get Bobby ta provide me with ice cubes on demand," she said reluctantly.

"Wahoo!" crowed Kitty, leaping up from the floor. Jubilee looked pleased. "We'll go ask everyone else! Then we'll go shopping and get outfits! Yay!"

"Who else is comin'?" asked Rogue softly, fingering the tags. Kitty was still jumping up and down waving her arms, so Jubilee answered.

"Anyone whose here and wants to come, provided they're old enough," she turned to Kitty and grabbed her wrist. "Come on Chica, there's a whole mansion left to ask!" They went through the door, closing it behind them. Kitty stuck her head through it.

"You do remember that Saturday is also Halloween, right?" Rogue frowned slightly, not liking where this was going, "Well," she paused and took a breath, before blurting out "Its-a-fancy-dress-party" and disappearing as Rogue's shriek echoed down the corridors.


	2. To sleep

Author's note: I am taking the films as canon, with bits of the comic for flavouring; only I am changing the order of some events, the "cure" for the mutant condition is already out there, but Logan's still off searching for his past… My laptop is my Tardis! (The way I figure it, in real life all the action happens at once, then dies down to leave you twiddling your thumbs…)

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Part 2 of the re-write. Enjoy!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter 2) **

Logan paused, and turned around; looking at the trail of footprints he had left in the snow, deep tracks caused by the extra weight of a metal skeleton. They led back to the partially hidden facility nestled in the icy wastes. The professor had been right, Logan admitted, it was interesting, and undeniably linked with his forgotten life. The increasingly vivid nightmares that had visited him every night for the past week proved it. That destroyed lab proved it. Remembering the nightmares, he reached up to his neck, just as he had on waking up each night. The gesture turned into a scratch, just as it had every other time, as, smiling softly to himself, he remembered where his dog tags were. As reassuring as the tags had been as a way to restore his cobbled-together sense of identity, it was even better to know that they were hanging around her dainty neck now, reassuring her that he, her protector, would come home.

Home. Logan shook his head wryly at the thought. He smiled, as the icy wind ruffled his hair, somehow happy despite the cold, the failing light and the loneliness. He had a home; and there was a girl waiting for him to come back, or by God he prayed she was. What was he waiting for? A sudden feeling like a kick to his gut made him turn his back on the Alkali Lake facility, and make his way to the top of the ridge, to the old bumpy road and Cyclops' waiting bike. He zipped up his leather jacket with gloved fingers before straddling the bike.

I'll see you soon, kid, he thought.

Rogue's eyes flew open suddenly. She huddled in her duvet, her nose filled with the smell of her own skin, which was slick with sweat, as her hand sought out the reassurance of the tags. She forced herself to slow her breathing. It was just a dream, just a dream she repeated to herself like a mantra. Ah'm safe, ah'm safe in mah room, ah'm safe in the Mansion; It was just a dream, ah'm safe in mah room; Nothin's gonna get ya, she told herself sternly, looking over at her alarm clock and continued chanting to herself, its 3.25 am on Tuesday mornin'. Ah'm safe in mah room, ah'm safe…

The shadows in her room were dark and ominous, and the loneliness and despair of her dream clung to her. She knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. She recognised that this was an important memory, one which needed to be purged. There had been a few of these before. She had spoken to the Professor about them, and had asked Jean, Hank and Ororo for their advice. She needed to talk to one of them now.

Throwing the covers back Rogue got up and pulled on a long fleecy dressing gown, which dragged on the floor. She slid on her slippers and went outside. She thought about her dream. It was like a hospital but somehow not. There were people in masks drinking champagne, and there had been a cold metal smell. She decided to go down to the med-lab. There would be someone there, or someone would arrive soon after she did, there was always someone on medical alert. She strode along the corridors and down the stairs. The dark wood panelling gave way to smooth, clean, white walls. The light made her feel better, but she still clutched the tags as the echoes of her footprints reverberated around her.

Finally she entered the med-lab, pushing the swing doors gently. The lights were on. She looked round, expecting to see Jean dealing with one of the little ones who had fallen out of bed, or something. There seemed to be no one there. Still caught up in the aftermath of her nightmare, she lay down on the examination table in the middle of the large room and stared up at the ceiling. She realised that the wires must have been drips, but what would the thicker tubes have been? She clutched the dog tags and realised that the table in the dream was more like a tank…she giggled, slightly hysterically as she thought that it was like the glass coffin which the seven dwarfs put Sleeping Beauty in. But no, she closed her eyes, trying to remember; in the nightmare it was filled with a gel, or water, and she, or whichever person was the source of the nightmare-memory, was submerged with an oxygen mask on, but the room was foggy.

A discreet false cough made her open her eyes and sit up. She blinked, and jumped up off the table. She ran over to Hank, and buried herself in his blue furry chest through his open lab coat. Hank hugged her tightly, he had never been afraid to touch Rogue, the thick fur covering him from oversized feet to pointed ears protected him from her touch, and as such it had been he who had comforted her, arriving soon after Logan had first left the mansion. He released her, and looked down, quizzically, waiting for her to speak. "Ah had a nightmare, from one of mah "imported" memories. Are you gonna' be down here for a while yet? Ah don't wanna be alone right now." He nodded, and she continued "Ah think ah'll need to purge this one from mah mind now, or ah'll be afraid to sleep forever." Rogue walked across to one of the printers in the walled off office section of the lab, and took out some plain paper. "Could ah have a pencil please? Ah really need to get this out of mah mind."

"You stay as long as you need, if it takes you 'till morning, and you aren't up to lessons I'll tell Professor Xavier." His surprisingly soft voice was filled with worry as it emerged from his incongruously large self. Hank McCoy, or the Beast, was another of the X-men like Jean Grey, with a proper job, and a public identity, although he tended not to appear in public since the later developments of his mutation, the fur and more animalistic features had become pronounced. He was a scientist, and had been around a lot through Rogue's initial counselling, since she had spent so long in the lab, having her brain scanned for any signs of the alien personalities in her mind. He was also on some integration committee or other, one that had been quite involved with the flawed "cure".

Hank pointed Rogue towards his desk, as he went to replace the sterile cover on the bed. Rogue started drawing. Letting her mind drift, unfocused she started to draw the view from the lab at Xavier's as a starting point. Her hand flew over the paper. Rogue worked in a harsh style, focusing on sharp edges and precise lines, rather than her usual, slightly impressionist style. It seemed to fit the subject matter. She made all of the shading precise, neat cross-hatching, and, on a second sheet, she jotted down words and doodles that seemed linked to the main image. She let her mind wander as she drew, closing her eyes now and again, trying to visualise the scene.

She woke up slowly, surprised to find Hank removing the sheets of paper from under her cheek; careful not to let his bare palms graze her skin. She blinked at the sunlight streaming in through the long, thin windows as Hank peered at her work. He held a steaming mug of hot chocolate out, which Rogue accepted gratefully. Hank pulled up a large wheeled chair, and sat down opposite her, rubbing his forehead with one large finger. The composition was disturbing, especially to a man of science like himself. "I find this very troubling," he rumbled, looking at one of the doodles, a half-full champagne glass set down on the edge of a table, probably an operating table, judging by the tiny rivulets of thick dark liquid. He was glad that there had been no coloured pencils for Rogue to use.

Rogue looked at her drawings of the nightmare, amazed, as he set them down on the table between them. "Ah didn't know that ah could draw that amount of detail," she murmured, as she looked at the valves on some of the pipes, as well as the charts on the wall in the background. "Ah can't remember being aware of a load of this stuff…" her voice faded into silence as she thought, sighing heavily, "Ah mean, how in hell would ah be aware of the serial number on that… whatever it is." Her voice wavered, and she hated herself for seeming weak as she pointed to the machine she had drawn.

She looked up at Hank. "That's all ah got. It seems ah fell asleep exactly when the memory ran outta juice. Ah got nothin' new to add to this." Hank was still looking at the sketch, puzzled.

"Whose memory is this Rogue? Is it Logan's?" Rogue nodded, wide eyed.

"Look here," he said, pointing at a diagram in the background "It's an X-ray, of an arm…" his voice trailed off, and as she peered at it, Rogue realised that she had drawn the claws that made Logan so dangerous in battle.

"Is this them putting the adamantium on his bones?" she mused. "No," she whispered, pointing at the champagne flute doodle, "this is them celebrating the success of the…" she gulped, "experiment. Oh poor Logan, I hope he doesn't have to dream this every night… how horrible…" she rested her face in her bare hands, exhaustion and emotion making it impossible to prevent the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

"I think you should go to bed, young lady. I'll go and speak to the professor about this; he's very interested in Logan's past." Hank stood up and stretched.

Rogue copied him rotating her shoulders and massaging her neck with one hand as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown with the other. She looked up at the clock, suddenly very aware of her chronic fatigue, despite the stimulating breakfast smells now emanating around the mansion. "Yeah. Ah'll go back to bed for a few hours. Ah don't have any classes 'till this afternoon anyway. Thank you, Hank. Ah'll be back to collect those sketches at some point. Good night!"

"Good morning you mean!" Hank half-joked as Rogue stood up, clumsily opening the swing doors and stumbling out into the corridor and back up the stairs.

On her way back to her room Rogue had to deal with the embarrassment of heading in the opposite direction to the hungry hoard of fully clad students as they rushed to breakfast. Jubilee was waiting at the top of the stairs. "Kitty just went through your room trying to find you," she said. "You ok, Chica?" she asked softly.

Rogues shook her head. "Ah'm going back to bed. Ah'll see y'all in tha Professor's class this afternoon, can we talk then?"

"Sure thing! Said Kitty, popping out of the wall behind her, "And we can talk after when we go to look round the mall for costumes for this weekend!" Rogue groaned, and rubbed her eyes. "Oh don't worry, we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to, we can talk about far more serious things!"

Rogue smiled. It was probably what she needed, an afternoon chatting about boys and clothes. "Ah'll come, ah guess, if ah can catch up on mah sleep now. How's that for a deal? And ah think y'all owe me a new body stocking, dontcha?"

Kitty nodded, and blew her a kiss. "'Kay then, Rogie," she said.

As Kitty and Jubilee left her, it took Rogue a minute to remember that she was on her way back to bed. When she finally got to her room she crossed it to her sink, after shutting the door firmly behind her, and washed her face, still smudged with pencil and sleep tears. She re-plaited her hair as she went to open the window, letting in the cool autumn breeze to blow away the stale air and smell of sweat.

She climbed into bed, leaving her slippers and dressing gown in a messy pile on the carpet. As she unhooked the tags from the strap of her night-dress she thought of Logan. It would have been nice to hug him again instead of Hank; he would have understood that there was more to the fear than the situation in the nightmare. She curled into a foetal ball under the covers, and then forced herself to stretch out and relax. It was the fear of having your very self stripped away, of having no memory and no hope; it wasn't just the fear of pain and loneliness and powerlessness. As she drifted into sleep she rested her hand on the tags at the base of her neck and wondered whether Logan found them as comforting as she had after the nightmare. Ah hope he comes home soon, so he won't wake up in the night and feel lost.


	3. Searching

Author's note: I am taking the films as canon, with bits of the comic for flavouring; only I am changing the order of some events, the "cure" for the mutant condition is already out there, but Logan's still off searching for his past… My laptop is my Tardis! (The way I figure it, in real life all the action happens at once, then dies down to leave you twiddling your thumbs…)

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

And here we are with some new material. I get some feedback there will be another chapter as soon as I get back to my computer after tomorrow's lectures. If the feedback is really good, I might even put up the next chapter before lectures! Enjoy!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter 3) **

Rogue stepped carefully off of the escalator, holding the tails of her scarf close to her body, as the three girls made their way from the shops for a brief energy boost in the food court. She strode off to get the drinks as Kitty, rather unceremoniously, missed her step coming off the escalator and disappeared under a pile of bags. She made a small noise of embarrassment as she stood up, dusted herself off, and scooping up her packages, absent-mindedly stuffed a pair of cat's ears attached to a hair band onto her head before she re-coiled the matching tail-on-a-belt and shoved it into her handbag. Jubilee and Rogue shared a glance across the mostly empty hall, and both of them smiled as Kitty stooped back down to gather up the contents of her various bags, the ears seemingly forgotten on her head.

Jubilee, who had cleverly brought a backpack with her into which she had managed to fit, in an awe-inspiring display of tetris-like packing ability, all of her predominantly sunshine coloured purchases, relieved Kitty of couple of bags as she scooped up an armful of her makeup which had scattered. Finally they made it to a table, and sat down, their laughter echoing around the shining white, chrome and glass building. Rogue, who had yet to buy anything clothes-wise, strolled back over with a tray of drinks. "Raht, so, take your pick ladies, oh, yeah, and classy entrance." She drawled. Since there were two hot chocolates and a black coffee on the tray she knew there wouldn't be much complaining on that front, and she sat down behind the coffee, and raised it to her lips as Kitty stuck out her tongue.

Jubilee looked at her knowingly, "So Erik won the internal argument then?" she asked, redundantly, knowing that Rogue herself would probably have preferred a soda.

Rogue smiled wryly, "Naw, just ah can't have a beer in heah. So, whut's next?"

Kitty grinned, "I think it's mostly you now. All I need is a collar, and Jubes needs…ummm, no wait, you got a pair of shoes right?"

Jubilee looked across at her best friend, "These," she stated imperiously, withdrawing one from her backpack and studying it closely, "are not just mere shoes, Chica, these are yellow and beautiful and, I have no doubt, the most glorious pair of patent yellow leather, chain bearing stiletto heels that the world has ever seen."

"Yeah, I believe you," Kitty placated Jubilee, as she replaced the venerated article of footwear back in the rucksack, "but what are you going as? A daffodil or a sunflower?" Kitty grinned at her.

"I was thinking a fairy, which would explain the silly little fairy wings, but either of the above will do, Chica" She switched her gaze to Rogue, who was draining her coffee. "What are you going as?"

"Ah'm gonna go as a vampire, so ah have an excuse to wear long sleeves and stuff, as well as more obvious parallels." She grinned. Getting control of her mutation, even if was an immense effort of will, had lightened up her attitude towards it, most of the time. She put down the coffee, and fingered the chain of the dog tags as she spoke. "Ah was thinking of lacy patterned gloves an' stockings, with mah split long skirt, an' a white silk shirt."

"So where are you gonna get the kit? Are we gonna go back to the fancy-dress place where I got my tail?" Kitty had finished her drink and was, once again, sorting her purchases out to make them easier to carry.

Rogue shook her head, white locks escaping the ponytail to hang around her face, "Ah'm goin' to the place ah get mah scarves and gloves an' other stuff. Y'all comin'? It's just along the way ovah there." She waved in the general direction of an underwear shop.

"Wouldn't dream of going anywhere else, especially when you're our ride back!" quipped Jubilee who followed the line of Rogue's arm and whistled. "You mean you get your stuff, downstairs in Pandora's? Isn't that a …ummm…" her voice trailed off into uncomfortable silence.

Kitty looked up confused. "Whaddaya mean?"

Rogue stood up. "She thinks it's a bit, ah… risqué. But y'all come an' see. It's not what ya'll think, or well, not only what ya think." She shoved her gloved hands into the pockets of her jeans, gauzy jacket and scarf floating out behind her. Kitty and Jubilee looked at one another. Jubes shrugged, and they followed Rogue.

Entering the shop, Kitty and Jubilee looked around, "No, Chica, it is what ah expected, an underwear store, with, I guess, a kinky bit at the back behind the 'adults only' partition." Rogue grinned and walked to the checkout. Jubilee followed her, while Kitty looked through a rack of Betty Boop patterned nighties, looking for one her size.

"Ah'm here ta see Lola, ah got some stuff ta pick up, an' ah wanna buy some more. Is she downstairs?" The bored looking blond girl at the till, whose name-tag identifies her as Tara-Lee, nodded. Rogue smiled at her "Thank ya." She turned towards the curtained off section at the back of the shop. "Come on then, Kitty, we're gonna come back, y'all can buy the nightie later."

Kitty followed reluctantly, "Or I could if I hadn't just spent most of my money," she said, pouting.

Rogue walked through the curtains, past some, well, unusual, underwear, which had Kitty blushing. "Well, yeah, it is a bit risqué in heah," she muttered in response to Jubilee's accusing glare. "Key, Kitty, y'all know they do collars in heah," she said, picking a studded collar of a high peg and tossing it to Kitty. "It's real leather, an' not too kinky." Kitty, somewhere between mortified with embarrassment and excited, only nodded.

Jubilee, who had walked ahead and found some stairs, called out "Is it down here?" At Rogue's nod she made her way down the stairs. At the bottom the three girls passed through a beaded curtain. "Well, I didn't expect that!" Jubilee exclaimed.

Jubilee and Kitty looked around a large, softly-lit basement workroom, bolts of fabric of every shade and type imaginable lined the cream and forest green walls. Rogue walked over to a large workbench off to one side, and opened a package addressed to her, and proceeded to try on the gloves they contained. There were lights everywhere on dimmer switches, Jubilee guessed, so that the light could be raised when this "Lola" was working. The area behind the table was partitioned off, with Japanese patterned bamboo and silk screens. Three dressmakers dummies stood in a sort of tableaux towards the back, dressed in strange costumes. One of them was dressed as some kind of witch, but not your classic type of black hat and a broomstick witch, it had striped lime and purple stockings, and was predominantly purple in colour. Another wore a sort of kimono with long flowing detached sleeves, and the third was modelling a skin-tight orange cat suit with a silk peasant shirt underneath.

Kitty tilted her head to one side then clapped her hands. "I've got it! The one on the left is Yuna, the next is Garnet, and the other one is a dark mage!"

"What are you talkin' about, Chica?" asked Jubilee, bemused.

"They're cosplay costumes for the Final Fantasy series of games," a strange soft voice broke in from behind her, and she whirled around to see a stunning tall woman, with messy short dyed red hair. She was wearing a fabric apron with huge pockets stuffed with thread, scissors and fabric swatches over a tiny tank top studded with safety pins and a pair of incredibly baggy red tartan jeans. Her arms rattled with the weight of bangles, her lips were bright red, with the lower one split in the middle by a simple silver ring. "The dark mage is Rikku," She said to Kitty.

"I'm Lola. Rogue sweety, ma belle du sud, are they ok to have a look around?" At Rogue's nod she smiled warmly, and waved her arm in a welcoming gesture, "Feel free!"

As Kitty and Jubilee wandered across to open one of the huge wardrobes Lola turned to Rogue, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Rogue interpreted it surprisingly well. "Them? They're from the Institute like ah am. Kitty and Jubilee" She added, indicating each in turn. Lola gave a slight nod, and moved around the work desk to lean against the edge, her hands trailing over the rim, followed by the whispering, tinkling, sound of the thin metal bands around her arms. Looking back up at Rogue she raised the other eyebrow, this time accompanied by a tilt of the head. "The gloves are lovely, and ah want a vampire costume for Halloween."

"I do love you so much sweety, you do know that? You give me such nice projects. Let's see what I can do for you, cream puff. How covered up do you want to be? Have you already got anything you want to work in?"

"Ah wanna be quite covered, but it's gonna be hot. And ah think ah wanna wear mah black shredded skirt, an' ah like the pattern from these gloves heah," she said, indicating the ones she meant.

"Nothing easier sweet pea, you go chat to your friends, I'll have something thrown together in about twenty minutes." Rogue leapt off the table and went to talk to Kitty and Jubes.

She found them sitting on the floor in front of a heavy wooden cabinet marked with an engraved X. "Look, these are…X-suits!" Kitty whispered, looking awed.

"So, y'all found Lola's secret, then." Rogue grinned. "Y'all wanna see the coolest thing evah? This cupboard heah is full of ones bein' developed for us lot for our graduation. Ah won't ruin the surprise by showin' ya yours, but ah've already seen mahne, an' ah don't mind y'all seein' it."

She shooed the other girls away from the cupboards, and opened the next one along, reaching in and feeling around. "So, how come you've seen yours already then?"

"Oh, the Professor wanted me to, as ah have to be completely covered, so ah had ta try it on an' run around in it for a while ta make sure that the extra fabric an' stuff wouldna make me ill. An' we had ta check an' see if ah could bare skin quick enough ta be of use." She grinned and withdrew her suit, which was on a hanger.

Kitty wrinkled her nose and grinned, "It's a bit tight, isn't it? There's not much left to the imagination." She giggled. "But, oh wow, your own X-suit. Cute gloves and oooh, you've got one of the cool belts!"

"Why the jacket?" asked Jubilee, from where she sat, on top of one of the other cupboards.

"Oh, ah liked it, an' Lola said she'd add to the suit! But ya know what's even bettah? She also did a coloured one!" Rogue put back her black leather suit, and withdrew a green and yellow suit with yellow gloves and a high collar.

"No, way! All the X-suits are black." Jubilee exclaimed.

Lola stuck her head through the partition at Jubes' shout. "I wanted to do something a bit more superhero-ish, you know like Superman's."

Kitty looked up from the floor, "I hate to burst your bubble, but, there's no such person."

Lola smiled. "Of course, and there's no super-powerful mutant army out there almost daily, protecting their friends and enemies alike from an evil which they cannot possibly comprehend, is there?" Kitty half raised her hand, her mouth slightly open, and then thought the better of it, shutting her mouth again with a snap. At that, all three girls burst out laughing, and only completely calmed down when Lola came back through with a wrapped package which she handed to Rogue.

She snatched the coloured suit out of Rogues hands, and began to fold it on the top tabletop. "Here you go, sweetheart. I know you'll love it. It'll fit, no problems, and I've put in a skirt just in case your one isn't quite right." She leant in close towards Rogue, and air kissed both her cheeks, whispering, "And I'll knock a whole third off the price 'mwah' if you lemme take a photo of your delicious self in it for the magazine, 'mwah'." She slipped the folded X-suit into the brown bag, and handed it to Rogue as well. "Keep it, sweetie, I've got the original." She turned to the other two girls, "Nice to meet you, girls, feel free to drop by, but remember, if anyone asks, you were here to buy kinky underwear, or cosplay kit!" She winked and waved as they made their way back up the stairs, and back into the harsh light of the shop. Just as they reached the top of the stairs her voice floated up after them, "Nice ears, by the way, Kitty-cat!"

Kitty's hands flew to her head, and she flushed bright red. "Ooh, you two are the meanest ever!" she complained, ripping off the headband.

Logan swung himself from the saddle of his stolen, no, borrowed, bike and made his way through the chill evening air to the waiting bar. His sensitive nose remembered that distinctive smell of sweat and blood and smoke in equal parts with a permeating acrid undertone of alcohol, the characteristic odour of a fight bar. He stood in the doorway for a moment, using the time it would take someone with normal eyes to adjust to the gloom to get his bearings and assess the bar, always alert to danger. Old habits die hard.

So, the local prize fighter in the corner, loitering by the cage, re-binding a bandage one handed, with practiced ease. Obviously a pro, by the wide berth the other men milling round the bar were giving him, and the jealous looks sent by an overdressed older woman sitting in a corner behind a pile of papers and a drink. Old hand behind the bar, local drunk asleep on it. No problems.

Logan made his way to the bar, and snagged a bar stool with his leg as he ordered a whiskey. The barman turned on the stereo as he reached back for the bottle, and suddenly the bar was filled with a twanging guitar and driving drum beat. Logan sat, staring at the oily amber swirls of his drink winding around the three ice cubes, trying to place the song. The prize fighter appeared on his left and sat down. "You look like a fighter, you here for a round in the cage?" Logan frowned slightly; the song was by some guy with a chick's first name, Allison? No... but something like that. "Hey, I said are you here for a fight?" Logan raised his eyebrow, as he glanced sidelong at the man. Taller and more slender than the Wolverine, he thought, but then, that's not hard. The blond man was getting irritated now. "No, just passin' through." Logan stated simply, finally remembering to take a swig out of his drink.

Aww, crap, he thought as the lyrics came out, a gravelly voice singing about wanting to taste a girl with venomous poison lips. His knuckles tightened on the glass. He looked up as another measure of the amber liquid twisted down, catching what meagre light there was in the room and seeming to pour it into the glass. The old gnarled barman smiled, revealing tobacco stained teeth, and kind dark eyes. "It's from Brad there," nodding at the fighter, his voice betraying a hint of Irish. The fighter had wandered off, to sit with the gaudily clad woman in the corner. Logan looked away, as sitting turned into a flaming row. "He's just glad he doesna have ta fight the Wolverine." Logan looked up in response to his pseudonym. "I'm guessin' she thinks he should pick a fight with you anyway, provoke you into the cage for the punters. There'd be quite a take, you've not played the circuit a while, but you're not forgotten."

"Well, I ain't going back to the cage." He took a swig from the tumbler.

"So mate, are you heading away from or back towards your poison lassie?" The barman was sitting down on the far side of the bar, dishcloth in hand, absentmindedly drying up beer glasses, a cigarette drooping between his teeth.

"Huh?"

The barman set down the dishcloth and nodded towards the radio, mounted up by the mirror behind the bar, as he took the cigarette from his mouth and knocked off the ash into a glass he had just wiped. "The song, mate."

Logan frowned, draining his drink. "Back towards, but I don't think she's mine anymore. She had a boyfriend last time I saw her. And she was just a kid, and I flirted with another man's woman."

"Why would you do a thing like that then?" he asked, pulling a pint of Guinness slowly into a fresh glass. Logan didn't answer. "OK then, how long have you been away?" Logan stared at the half empty glass, still frowning. "Some time I take it then?" lilted the barman, looking down at Logan. "Ah, I see," he sighed. "You had to wait for her to grow up." Logan looked sharply. "You'd better go find out before it's too late, you know." The barman continued blithely, "'What might have been' is always worse than the alternative."

Logan gulped down the remainder of the drink, and slammed a twenty down on the bar as he pushed his chair back from the bar, and stood up to go out, as the song drew to a close.


	4. Whispers on the wind

Author's note: I've put up more new material, but only because I feel generous and have nothing to do; come on guys, is hitting the review button kill you? **LAST POST** until I get some feedback, otherwise I won't be motivated enough to write the final chapters…

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Hope you like it (and I'd like you to tell me so!)

Thanks to all reviewers so far!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter 4) **

Rogue sat alone in her own little world as Kitty and Jubilee chatted to the guys around the breakfast table. She took a swig of the bitter coffee, amazed at how much the taste had grown on her. Before she had touched Erik, she had liked to drink her coffee with a generous dollop of cream, or milk and sugar if no cream presented itself, but now she found undertones in the flavour of the coffee itself. "Guatemala Elephant" she said, to no-one in particular.

Remy stared at her. "What be dat, cherie? Remy is not thinking you is wantin' to go to a fete dressed as an Elephant, whether she be from Guatemala or Africa."

Rogue smiled at the demon-eyed Cajun. "It's tha type of coffee bean."

"So you is going to be dressed all in brown, an' padded wit' pillows? Remy is thinkin' that would also be a mistake."

"Remy, mah costume's sorted, an' it's a secret, Guatemala Elephant is tha variety of coffee ah am drinkin'" she chuckled.

_Rogue, please come to my office._ The Professor's mental voice reverberated around her head, making her go crossed eyed for a moment.

"Ah's sorry, guys, ah gotta go, ah'll catch up with y'all later." She swept up her tray and put it on the rack by the door to the kitchen, before heading out. Minutes later she stood outside the Professor's door. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung inwards, held open by the imposing figure of Hank. She smiled at him, and walked up to the Professor's desk. He smiled warmly at her, "Good morning Rogue, please, sit down."

"Mornin' Professor, Hank."

"So Rogue, Hank here tells me that you've been dreaming about Logan's past. I've seen your sketches," he paused, and the silence stretched as all three contemplated the troublesome images. "Is there more you'd like to tell us?"

Rogue looked at the man behind the desk, his hands steepled in front of him, the light from the window behind him reflecting off his bald head and the tops of the wheels to his chair, just visible behind the desk.

"There's nothing more that ah could draw, it's fadin' fast Professor, an' ah still have no ideah how I could draw that much detail."

"Yes, Hank has been able to identify some of the machinery and guess others parts of it, but what I want to talk to you about is the associated feelings, sounds, and emotions."

"Ah know. Uhh, it starts of dark, with a greeny blueness. That's tha gel stuff in tha tank; it's thicker than water, but not so thick that it traps the air bubbles from tha mask. It sounds like ah'm listening to a cocktail party on TV in tha next room along, or somethin'. Not quite like hearin' from underwater, but close. Tha champagne's only just opened, and there are more bottles poppin' all tha time, an' glasses clinking. People are excited and happy, in that they seem pleased with themselves, ya know, successful, but ah can't understand what they say…"

"Are they speaking a foreign language?" Hank interrupted.

Rogue looked up at him, rubbing her hands together. "Ah don't think so, ah think it's just that ah…Logan… has…" She paused, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, staring transfixed at the grain of the wooden desk. She looked up at Hank, and then turned back and met Professor Xavier's gaze with wide eyes, "Professor," she whispered softly, " it's like he's forgotten how ta understand English… forgotten how ta speak… lost his words, an' got no frame of reference anyway. An' ah… he… can't concentrate on tha words anyway… everythin' hurts, there's no smell, everythin's this alien colour, no touch, except for tha claustrophobic wetness, and everything hurts. Not real bad, but bad. And … Professor, ya know how all pain sorta feels like heat? Well the pain feels hot, but tha stuff causin' it, tha adamantium I guess, it's like it was hot, but now its cold, so cold."

Rogue hugged herself, bringing her knees up on the chair, before the Erik-ness in her reminded her about shoes on the furniture. "Professor, ah…he… was scared. He's hurt, alone and weak. All of which are wrong for Logan. He may be a loner, but it's 'cos he's sorta an alpha of the pack, he may not be tha boss, but he needs ta lead, or he goes sorta renegade. He's an alpha an' he needs a pack, an' he's safest, most dangerous, strongest, best, whateva, when he's got one. But it's not just that. In tha dream he knows its _wrong_ not ta remember how he got there, and why, and he knows he's been stripped open. He feels he's failed, an' he doesn't know why or how or who, only that he's not allowed ta be weak and somehow he is. Then he's angry. They made him weak. An' he knows that if he defeats them, if he kills them… he'll reclaim his honour…strength…rightness…whatever…"

The Professor rolled around the desk, and stopped close to Rogue. Leaning forward, he gently entered her thoughts. _Show me._

Hank looked down at the two seated people. The Professor's face was calm, open and still. Rogue's face, however, showed the pain of the memory. Her eyes were fluttering behind closed lids, tears pouring down her cheeks and her breath catching. Just as he was about to ask the Professor to stop because of the distress to the girl, their eyes opened, and the Professor backed away. Hank scooped a handkerchief deftly out of the pocket of his lab coat, and passed it to Rogue, who took it with a small smile.

"Thank you, Rogue. I'll keep these drawings for a little while longer, if you don't mind." The Professor rolled back round to the other side of his desk, and put the sketches in a drawer.

"That's ok, Professor. Ah just wish ah could… it must be so much worse…" she grimaced as words failed her. "When he comes back…"

The Professor smiled sadly at her, "When he comes back, you should probably talk to him about it."

The autumn leaves swirled and tossed lazily in the wind, riots of warm colour settling, eventually, into deep drifts along the edges of the roads. The small sounds of nature abounded, birds, the wind, and the chattering noises of squirrels running up the trunks and branches of the huge trees lining the avenue, as the last of the evening light fell dappled through the incomplete canopy of the trees. The breeze was soft, and moist, carrying the earthy, green smell that heralds light rain, as it twisted the falling leaves in it's eddies, and tiny little localised whirlwinds on their travel to the ground. A tabby cat stalked into the middle of the road, its nose twitching. It took a few cautious steps forward then it sat, cleaning its face with its paws, the tip of its tail flicking gently back and forth, the light wind ruffling the hairs. Looking up, it arched its back and hissed into the wind, before leaping to the side of the road.

Suddenly, the red motorbike tore down the middle of the road at breakneck speed. Its noise, the roar of the engine, the hiss of the tyres and the whistling of the wind currents it caused stunned everything else into silence, as the updraft disturbed the leaves from the piles on both sides of the wide road.

The motorbike dwindled into the distance, its roar fading, before dropping out of sight around a corner. The leaves, falling gently in the twisting air currents for the second time that day, the only sign of its passing.


	5. Of Angel and demons

Author's note:

"They don't like me, they never review… except for five of them" sobs the author into the hankie given by the ever fabulous beta Hannah

On the other hand, thanks to my select few reviewers, I'm so glad that you all seem to appreciate the time I take on the descriptions and peripheral elements to the plot. You've been overwhelmingly positive, so this update is for you! (Also if you want to use the review button as a suggestion box, that works for me too – extra perspectives are always good when they allow progress and development.)

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them! Except Lola, of course, she's mine; an homage to a mate at school, whose baggy jeans and many varieties of wash-in-wash out hair dye were the light of many a lesson.

This chapter is one of my favourites, it features my food-obsessed Lola, and gives Angel a bit of a break, I felt rather sorry for him in the third film, so… well, have a read.

Hope you like it (and I'd like you to tell me so!)

Again, thanks for reading!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter 5) **

"Hey y'all!" Rogue said cheerfully as she walked into the crowded, noisy, TV room, "Ah'm off ta the mall ta see Lola. Anyone need anythin' while ah'm there? Or wanna come with?" Rogue's voice grew louder as she fought with the noise of some Saturday morning cartoon.

Remy looked up from the floor, where he was playing clock patience with his deck of cards, and shook his head. "Non mercie, cherie, Remy has everything sorted." A pregnant pause fell over the room, as the couch failed to answer the question. Rogue moved as if to kick the back of the settee. "Allow me," declared Remy, holding up a long fingered hand. His red eyes shone as he selected the jokers from the pile of cards on the rug. With an elegant flick he threw the jokers in Rogue's direction, they collided and exploded over the couch with a loud bang, making the cluster of young people under the duvet and blankets protest.

"Vat are you doing, Remy?" demanded Kurt, the tip of his blue tail the only evidence of his presence in the group, as it waved back and forward over the arm of the sofa, the remote control wrapped in its prehensile length.

"Da lady asked a question!"

Kitty's head emerged from under a duvet on the couch. "Huh?"

"Happy birthday Kitty," said Rogue noticing Kitty. She rummaged in her back, withdrawing a large wrapped and beribboned box, which she plonked in the vague direction of Kitty's lap.

"Eeee!" Squealed Kitty, opening the box, wrapping the black ribbon around her wrist. "My favourites! Thank you Rougie!" she exclaimed, opening the box of Belgian chocolate pralines. "What question was it you asked?" mumbled Kitty through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Ah wanted ta know if anyone wanted a lift or anythin'. Ah'm off out," she said, shouldering her backpack and pulling the tail of her silky scarf out from under the strap.

A chorus of "I don't think so" and "No thanks," came from the rest of the pyjama clad mess of limbs on the couch, which, drawn out from the cover of the duvet by the promise of chocolate, turned out to be Jubilee, Bobby and John, as well as Kitty and Kurt. All of them were in pyjamas and dressing gowns, or in Jube's case, another oversized yellow jumper.

"Ah'll see y'all later, Kitten." She nodded at the cluster of young people on the couch, "Hey, folks, don't bother rushing to bathe or get dressed now, will ya."

"I'd like to come in with you, if that's not a problem," a clear voice from the hallway rang out. Rogue looked over her shoulder to see the pale bare-chested figure of Warren, a new arrival to the mansion. His slender, swimmer-like form, broad shoulders and narrow hips, managed to fill up the whole doorway, the giant swan like wings at his shoulder half open. "The Professor suggested that I might like to visit this Lola woman for a fitting."

"Sure thing, are ya comin' in tha car, or unda your own power?" Rogue nodded up at his wings, as Warren half- turned to let her past.

"I'll just stick my jacket on, and come in the car, thank you." So saying he took these garments off the crowded coat stand, and, folding his wings, slipped the buckled harness over his shoulders, and drew on the long, split trench-coat, which left him looking bulky, and inelegant. A pity, when his whole being was so light and aptly angelic.

Rogue discreetly watched Warren lower himself into his seat and sit down stiffly, holding himself forwards off the backrest. Rogue sighed as she drove out of the garage and onto the drive, anticipating an uncomfortable journey, bit she needn't have worried, the drive passed quickly; the formal young Englishman was easy company, eager to talk despite his evident discomfort. On arriving at the mall, Rogue parked the little coupe neatly in the multi-storey, reversing it round the corner rather faster than Warren had expected. Rogue smiled at him, apologetically, commenting, "Hey, ah got Logan in mah brain!" Getting her bag out of the boot, Rogue paused a moment to wrap her scarf more securely around her neck and roll up her gloves under her long sleeves.

Arriving at Pandora's, poor Warren's pale complexion betrayed him, leaving him looking rather flushed. He kept his vision dead ahead through the lingerie section, and looked mortified as they entered the "adult's only" section at the back. He relaxed on the stairs, sighing deeply. Rogue laughed, before heading out through the beaded curtain.

"Rogue, sweety, my one and only meringue, is that you?" Lola's voice floated through from the next room.

Rogue turned to Warren, laughing at his bemused expression. "Tha harder it is ta make for ya, tha more she likes ya. The more she likes ya, tha more likely she is ta call ya some kind of cake. She's an artist, ya know."

Lola entered the main workroom, her arms full of a bundle of roughly cut denim. Dumping the mess on the worktable she rolled the dimmer switch, lifting the lights. Her hair was pink today, Rogue noticed, to match the huge baggy corduroy trousers which she wore, held up by a chunky black belt.

"Mmm," purred Lola, looking at Warren, like a cat eyeing a bowlful of cream. "Yummy." She grinned widely, holding out a hand, which Warren shook, looking slightly intimidated. "So you must be Angel. Pleasure to meet you. The Professor gave me a vague idea of your requirements, I've made a few designs, and a quick mock-up for you to have a look at." Turning back to the work table and bending down to open one of the draws down one side, Lola made eye contact with Rogue. _He's gorgeous!_ She mouthed.

"Right, here we are," she said, clapping her hands. "If you would like to have a look at these, and tell me what you think," Lola passed Warren a fat portfolio of sketches and fabric swatches. She scooped up the scraps of denim, and slid them into the now empty drawer. "Rogue, sweetie, I guess you're here to settle up, and I can do any quick adjustments you might need…" This was said in a tone of voice which managed to imply that any such hypothetical adjustments required would be due to Rogue suddenly going up a dress size or loosing a limb, not any fault of the dressmaker or costume. "Oh, and I can snap you now, if you like. The whole goth-chic thing really suits you. It's the witch's hair…"

"Sure thing, ah've got everything in heah, I'll just get be a minute… Rogue smiled, heading behind the bamboo screen to get changed. Oh," she waved two cheques over the top of the screen. "One's for my stuff and tha other's from tha Professor."

Lola took the cheques and slid them in one of the pockets of her apron. "Thank you, my little cream puff. I'll be with you in a minute."

Lola walked back over to Warren, who was looking at the design pictures. He turned to her. "These look great."

"Thank you. I started playing around with two piece suits, then moves on to back fastenings. This sketch here," she flipped over a page and pointed, "is my favourite, and from a practical point of view, it offers the maximum skin coverage, and would be best at higher altitudes. However, I'm not sure when coverage becomes hindrance in terms of wing movement. Also, some of them might be a little difficult to do up by yourself, hence these straps. Unless you're double jointed? Really, I need to see you fly, sweetheart. I've based these on the idea that you fly like a seabird, facing down and gliding." She gesticulated wildly, illustrating her words with her arms. "Can you hover? That might mean I have to re-think. And what about facing forwards, can you do that?"

"I'm not really sure, I haven't had much practice… My family…" he broke her gaze.

"It's ok, sweety, really." Lola gave him a brief hug around the waist. "H.Saps can be like that. Hell, how harmless is my mutation… Look." Lola screwed up her face, and her hair changed. It stretched and grew, the colours shifting, until Warren was looking at Rogue's hair on Lola's head. "Utterly useless," she declared, changing it back with a shake of her head, "but people had such a cow over it. Of course, it's massively better than that poor guy whose mutation makes him vomit all the time, but I mean, come on, this," she waved at her head "is completely cosmetic. But you're away from that now; you should make the most of what makes you special. And on that note, show me, I need to measure." Warren smiled, and released his wings, Lola took the harness and jacket, and put them to one side, "Turn around, I need to see your back, please."

"Angel is right," she murmured softly, as she set to work with her tape measure. "So, if I do this" she pressed on the muscles operating his wings which made him so broad shouldered, "Have a flap and stretch…yes…So, is that uncomfortable, would it get in the way?"

Warren shook his head. Stepping back from him Lola put her head on one side. "Hey, would you do something for me?" Warren nodded. "Rogue might have told you that I'm going to take a picture of her in my outfit, would you be in it? As payment I'll make you some sweaters or something you can wear with your wings instead of those horrible straps, what do you say?"

"What would I have to do?"

"Lie down and look gorgeous. Nothing hard for you." Warren blushed again, but Lola didn't notice, she was already rummaging through a cupboard, withdrawing a pair of cream coloured slacks with a drawstring waist. She held them up to his hip, "A little long, perfect! Put these on please! I'll just go and help Rogue."

Behind the screen, Lola immediately started to lace up Rogues top, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, "So?"

Rogue grinned. "Single, English, rich, titled."

Lola pretended to faint, fanning herself with a hand. "Those are four of my favourite things in a man, sweetie pie. Though I suppose with those wings, he'd always have to be on top. Oh, well, we all have our crosses to bear." She sighed dramatically, trying to keep a straight face as Rogue play slapped her on the arm.

"Right, Warren, sweety, are you ready?" Lola asked, not waiting for a response as she had already walked around the screen and was looking at him before she finished her sentence. "I've set up the little workroom as a set, 'though I think I'll get rid of the coffin. Angel here is much nicer to look at."

So saying she lead the way around the corner, where there was a large old-fashioned camera set up on a tripod, in front of a bare stone wall, with a table bearing a black lacy tablecloth and a candelabra full of drippy candles, as well as a coffin. She heaved the coffin out of the way, Angel immediately stooping to help; rather unnecessarily it turned out, as the coffin was made of cardboard.

"Excellent." Lola crawled under the table and fiddled with something, before tilting the tabletop until it formed a slope rather than a flat surface and securing it in place. Taking some pins from her apron she tacked the tablecloth to the table. "Warren, lay against that, and Rogue, lean in and look at the camera."

Lola stood behind the camera, and twiddled with a remote, which adjusted the lighting. "No, hand up a bit, Rogue sweety. Lovely. Warren, imagine she is the air you breathe, look at her transfixed, in awe… that's great. Oh damn, the candles, wait a tick…" she dashed forward and lit the candles with a lighter from another of the pouches of her apron.

"Where were we? Leg up sweety, nice."

Click, click, click.

"Rogue, look up through your lashes, just like that yes, open your lips a bit… Think carnivore… perfect."

Click, click, click.

"Hold it steady," she grabbed a Polaroid camera from the shelf behind her. "Look at me, one for you to take home …" click, whirrrrrr… "Wonderful. You can get up now."

Lola wandered off into the next room, waving the fresh Polaroid picture in one hand, and carrying her big camera in the other. "Rogue sweety, you can get changed now, I'll just measure Warren for some shirts. You can call back for him in about half an hour."

"You were gone for ages, it's past lunchtime!" Kitty moaned as Rogue heaved her backpack off her shoulder, and slid it onto the hall table.

"Yeah, Lola worked Warren into tha photo shoot, an' then, uhhh… she sorta kept him. Ah did go back for him, but… well… ah didn't really wanna go down there… uhh, so ah figured that ah'd just leave a note… Ah told her she could come ta tha party, if that's alright."

"Yeah, it's cool." Said Kitty, her face covered in facemask, the rest of her still wrapped in her dressing gown.

"Anywhay, its not as if y'all seem ta have found time ta get dressed!"

"Well, look what the Kitten dragged in," Jubilee appeared on the stairs, looking down at them both, her arms full of bottles and little pots. "Get yourselves up here, we have work to do!"

Kitty bounded up the stairs after Jubilee. Rogue shouldered her rucksack, looking up the stairs. "Hey! Are y'all callin' me ugly?" she ran up the stairs, the rucksack thumping against her back.


	6. Hallowe'en Night

Author's note:

REVIEWERS ROCK! You guys! blushes I'm feeling massively better now that my reviews are into double figures and so totally chuffed that you like it. I think the whole creative thing has been shifted back into high gear.

I am feeling so utterly great because of the yummy feedback that I'm posting chapter 6 for you. And, I am gonna sit down at my computer for the next few hours and bash out drafts and snippets for chapter 11 and onward, and then nag my marvellous, insightful beta Hannah, to whom I am ever grateful, for a brainstorming session and a cup of mint tea.

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Hope you like it (and I'd like you to tell me so!)

Again, thanks for reading!

Xxx

PaintR

P.S. On an incidental note, would people be interested in a Rogan orientated rewrite of the third film? Thinking about future projects here… Let me know what you think.

**Chapter****6) **

Logan strode down the curved drive from the garage towards the front door of the mansion. The mansion seemed strange. He looked up, and noticed that most of the windows were dark, and it seemed very quiet. Odd, for a Saturday night in a school full of kids. Reaching the front door he lit a cigar as he pressed the doorbell. Leaning against the doorframe he drew on the Monte Cristo, contentedly flicking the ash into the carved pumpkin sitting on the large doorstep. Halloween. Oh.

Suddenly the door swung open to reveal a huge bowl of sweets. Looking down into the bowl Logan poked a finger in, moving the brightly wrapped confections around before finally settling on a toffee, as Ororo stared at him in shock from behind the bowl. He stubbed out the cigar, putting it back in his pocket along with the toffee. "Storm." He nodded as he walked past her into the mansion.

Ororo finally found her voice. "Logan, those are for the children…"

"Hey, I can say trick or treat better as well as any kid. Speaking of kids, where's the kid?"

"Most of them have gone out," said Ororo, mishearing him, swapping the large bowl of sweets for the bowl of popcorn which was on the hall table, which Logan's nose identified as hot, fresh butter popcorn. Ororo smiled, offering it up to him briefly and lead the way through to the darkened TV room, where the youngest children were sitting with the Professor, and some of the other instructors, watching a film… with songs… and puppets. Logan scanned the room as Ororo sat back down on the end of the sofa and passed the popcorn to the boy next to her to circulate.

Logan scanned the room. Old habits. Ororo was the only adult on the couch, with a load of kids. Logan couldn't really remember any of them. Beast sat on the thick rug with group of children, slightly to one side so that his tall frame wouldn't obscure the TV. The Professor was parked in between the sofa and a chair, the girl whose screams were better than any fire alarm sat on his lap. Logan smiled as he remembered sleepless nights after one camping trip, when one of the older kids had told such a good horror story that he had managed to give her nightmares that woke her up, screaming, and therefore the whole campsite.

Cyclops was obvious in the large armchair in one corner of the room even without the red glow of the TV reflection in his glasses. Jean was lying back on his lap, smiling at the TV. Logan didn't miss the way his weight shifted when One-eye finally noticed him. They exchanged stiff nods. "I hope you didn't scratch my bike."

"Welcome back, Logan," said Jean, looking up and smiling, seemingly genuinely pleased to see him, Logan noted.

The Professor whispered something to the child sitting on his lap, and she clambered off to join the group on the cushions and blankets on the floor. He wheeled carefully out into the corridor where Logan stood.

"Well, good evening Logan. Shall we go to my office?" Without waiting for an answer the Professor directed his chair down the hall. "How was your trip?" he asked as Logan closed the door to the Professor's office.

"I found the Alkali Lake facility. I was definitely there." Looking into Logan's thoughts the Professor saw images of rocks and trees bearing old triple scars, vague memories of hunting, being hunted, anger and fear. Charles Xavier removed Rogue's sketch of the lab from the drawer, and placed it on the blotter laid into the surface of the desk as Logan continued to speak. "Part of the facility seemed to have been used recently. A lab was set up, and I found this modified drip thing, clogged with adamantium."

The Professor leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped on the desk. "Could you tell how recently?"

Logan paced up and down in front of the Professor's broad desk. The Professor saw how inside his mind reflected the caged animal attitude his pacing betrayed. There were so many questions inside the short man's mind; more questions than there were answers. The Professor saw how, to Logan, one of these questions was huge, a crux point in Logan's life. But the Professor refrained from prying into the nature of the issue, there were more important matters for him to concern himself with at present. "Three weeks, maybe less." Logan answered, finally.

"And what was the lab like, Logan?"

"There was…this tank, in a cave…" His voice broke off as he caught sight of the drawings on desk, and flipped them around, carelessly, to have a look. He sat down, heavily, into one of the chairs, which creaked in complaint. He studied them for a moment, one hand massaging his temples. Logan looked up at the Professor. "Where did these come from?" he demanded harshly. "The lab looked like this, or would have done when it was working. Have you had one of your kids tailin' me?" he accused the Professor, flinging the drawings back onto the desk.

"This isn't a drawing of the lab recently, as far as we are aware, Logan. But if there is indeed little or no difference between this and what you say you saw, it would seem, therefore, that there have been very few advances in the shadowy world of creating adamantium enhanced mutant warriors."

Logan quirked an eyebrow at being so described, "Oh goody," he drawled sarcastically.

"Indeed, it means that we can make a reasonable attempt at estimating the level of threat they pose with you as a template. You may even be our best chance of defeating them, should the need arise if any of them should happen to find their way into Magneto's thrall."

"So you think there are more like me? Where did this come from? How long have you guessed?"

"Logan, when we first met we discussed the unusual, although highly useful nature of your regenerative power. Jean has hypothesised that since our mutations are a natural leap in evolution that it is unlikely that many near-immortals will occur; they are hardly conducive to development. We also have found no similarities between your power and others, or others with similar traits; neither Jean nor Hank has ever encountered another with your healing ability. But then, nor are there any others that we know of like young Rogue. However, consider the relatively large number of known telepaths and manipulators of various elements; these would seem to be the principle directions of mankind's evolution.

"Furthermore, there have been no reports to reach us, nor any signs from Cerebro that there are others able to heal themselves who will be able to survive such an invasive procedure. However, you have just told me that the lab has been in use recently; and with adamantium involved… we must consider that something was done to plate your skeleton, thus such things are possible, and may well have been done again."

"So, Chuck, you're telling me that there's probably at least one more like me, and probably better. Great." Logan looked down at his hands, and rubbed the knuckles. He sighed, "And the drawing, if it's not recent, where did it come from?"

"No, Logan, the drawing is recent, but the image is not. Rogue drew it earlier this week." Logan stared at the Professor, frowning. "It seems however, that rather than tracking your current whereabouts, she was rather the victim of your memories. Along with your healing abilities, she seems to have temporarily absorbed some of your subconscious, effectively infecting her dreams."

"God. The kid got my nightmares. I didn't…." Logan stood up, the chair creaking.

"She's fine, Logan. Talk to her about it, I think she'll probably want to discuss it with you. You and I can talk again later, Logan." The Professor led the way back out of the office, and into the hall. "You're welcome to join us for the rest of the film, of you like; if not, your room is where you left it."

"The house seems empty," commented Logan, as they arrived outside the TV room.

"Yes, the other young people have either gone to bed, or those old enough have gone out to a club in town, I believe, to celebrate Kitty's birthday, with those apparently stalwart traditions of Halloween, fancy dress and alcohol."

Logan nodded, and headed up the stairs, his pack hanging from one hand. Walking down the wood panelled corridors Logan smelled a familiar, nostalgic smell, on the same corridor as his room. He had passed Scott and Jean's room, which, from the musty smell, had not been in regular use for several weeks, but not yet arrived at his own. Following the smell, he stopped at Rogue's room. She wouldn't have gone clubbing, too much skin. He knocked. "Kid?"

He couldn't hear any movement, and pushed the door open. The room was a mess. A pile of dirty clothes hadn't quite made it all the way into the open laundry bin in the corner. Bags and clothing tags, scarves and gloves were spread out across the bed, and makeup pots and tubes and stuff were strewn across the dressing table. Despite this, the room smelt quite clean, there had been lots of soap and shampoo used not very long ago, a fact attested to by the wet towel left out, lying across the foot of the bed.

Looking down at the dressing table he saw the back of a Polaroid picture. Picking it up gave him a shock. It was obviously carefully arranged, professionally done, and even though both models were clad, it wouldn't have looked out of place in one of those magazines which Logan would never admit to buying. It was a colour photo, but the darkness of the room, lit into a contrast by the branch of candles in the foreground, which cast odd, looming shadows in the background, and the use of only two colours on the models, made it little more than black and white. Lying, limp limbed against a slanting table was some blond guy dressed as a half naked angel, Logan couldn't tell how the wings were attached, with the sort of expression on his face that Logan would only admit to finding familiar in the deepest recesses of his mind when thinking about the kid. Leaning aggressively over him, staring at the camera was… "Marie!"

Logan's nose searched the room for the blond model's scent. Nothing. Good. Just a photo, then. God, what a photo.

Marie looked… sexier and raunchier than Logan had imagined… no, that's not true, he thought to himself. She looks just as sexy as you imagined her.

She wore hideously impractical, wonderfully sexy, devastatingly aggressive soft black ankle boots with a high metal stiletto heel, which drew the gaze up to reveal her long shapely legs, wrapped in fine black, patterned, lace. The skirt of black rags slung low on her hips fell apart revealing the thigh pressed to the table against the blond boy's naked torso and the band of lace at the top of the stocking, attached to a dark coloured suspender, leading the eye back up that mouth watering thigh. Her body was tilted forward; the bodice of the top was a black corset so tight that it seemed to be painted on, lifting her breasts, emphasising a delicate, fragile waist.

The corset in turn gave way to a silky champagne shirt. The long, loose sleeves fell down her arms to catch in folds. One hand was on the boy's chest, the other at his neck, both covered in long black lace gloves which matched the pattern of the stockings and disappeared under the sleeves of the shirt. The shirt's wide collar gaped open at the neck. A black velvet ribbon caressed her throat, and a familiar looking chain gleamed dully around the base of her neck leading the eye down to the top of the corset, slipping into her defined cleavage.

His dog tags, Logan realised suddenly, were lying hidden, nestled between her breasts.

He inhaled sharply, and forced himself to look at the rest of the picture. Logan felt an appreciative growl rise in his throat, as he looked at her image in the photo. She looked at the camera as if she had looked up suddenly, as if her territory had been invaded. Her hair was swept back into a bun, except for the white locks of hair which fell forward framing her face. And such a face. Her lips were red, the brightest colour in the photo; moist, parted, revealing white vampire teeth; her eyes were smoky, lusty, and her cheeks flushed. She looked… hungry, sexy, snarling. No one should be able to look at Marie dressed like that. Well, no one apart from a notable, single exception. And she's gone out dressed like that, has she? Then she can't mind you looking too, Logan told himself, as he pocketed the picture, and strode back out of the room and down the stairs.

Kids. Halloween. Alcohol. Club. But which club? Logan asked himself as he arrived at the front door. Just as he was contemplating going into the TV room to ask he noticed a note scrawled in pink ink pinned to the notice board. _"Taxis booked. 1am. The Studio."_

"Hey, Cyke," Logan called over his shoulder as he opened the door. "I'm taking the bike again."


	7. Hunting the huntress

Author's note:

Again thanks for all the lovely reviews and constructive criticism. That's what it's all about – keeping my writing standard high for your reading pleasure.

On a slightly less positive note, "la rentree" is now over, so the first semester here is kicking off with full force. And I'm rapidly running out of the prewritten and beta read sections. So updates will probably slow down. I'm going to try for a chapter of a week and see how we go. However, now that the readership has shown interest, and with a beta (the ever delightful Hannah) within easy nagging distance (nagging both ways, that is) I should manage to keep a high enough level of momentum going. (Insert juggernaut joke here).

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Again, thanks for reading and thanks for your feedback!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter** **7) **

Kitty opened the door of the cab and tumbled out of it onto the path almost before the car had come to a stop. Jubilee and Rogue followed at a more sedate pace, as Remy paid the driver. "I'm so excited!" squeaked Kitty, gesturing wildly with her arms, and spinning around, making a lethal weapon of the wired black tail attached to her belt.

"I'd never have guessed, Chica," drawled the canary yellow, winged and beribboned Jubilee, who had decided that she was dressed as a bumblebee, by adding a black belt to her rather yellow ensemble. "Excellent, here are the others," she announced as a second cab pulled to a stop and disgorged Bobby, Pyro, Kurt and Warren. "So let's go talk to our bouncer, and confirm the guest list."

They walked up the ramp into the end of the mall a gaggle of laughing teenagers, the two of the three girls teetering slightly on their heels, Kitty admitting that she was phasing her feet, allowing her to stay upright. Footsteps echoed through the mall which was empty except for similarly raucous clusters of other young people also heading for the club, some in fancy dress, some not.

The arduous climb up the stairs took forever, Kurt gave in to the pressure of the other boys as they waited at the top, and teleporting the girls up the last flight of steps. Finally arriving with Jubilee, her yellow clashing horribly with his natural blue tones, they rounded the corner from the staircase into the glass and carpet corridor. Their feet stuck to the carpet slightly. "Sign of a good club that!" John declared knowingly, inspecting the hem of his brown cord trousers which trailed slightly on the floor and his faux crocodile shoes with a mixture of approval and concern. The corridor was divided in two by a velvet rope which confined a queue of demon girls and mini-skirted witches, and guys wearing mostly black, although one was trailing loo roll everywhere, obviously dressed as a mummy. The X-kids strolled past the queue to the entrance, where a bouncer who would have dwarfed Colossus stood, with a counter in his fist.

"Hi, are you David? Kitty asked, pushing to the front of the group. The bouncer nodded, and Kitty continued at a rate of knots, "Excellent, I'm Kitty Pryde, we met on the phone," she said, seizing his huge right hand in her tiny one and pumping it furiously for a moment. "We're the guest list!" Kitty said, "Well, not all of it, obviously, but you said on the phone I'd need to run over the list quickly with you when we arrived, which is super, 'cos, as I said, we're not all here yet." She continued barely pausing for breath "Oh, before I forget, here's a little thank you present for your time and help on the phone, and being so patient with me." She handed the plastic bag which had been hanging round her wrist containing a box of chocolates over to him, which he accepted with a blush, passing it and the clicker to the other bouncer, shorter and… with more _relaxed_ muscle.

"Why'd she bother with that?" Bobby stage whispered to Remy.

"'Cos, mon amie, she was so stressed and incoherent on da phone dat even Remy, who was standin' right next to her, had no clue what she was sayin'. Da man is deservin' dose. He has da patience of a saint." He stage whispered back.

Kitty stood on tiptoes looking at the list the bouncer had pinned to the wall, as David crossed them off the list with a fat highlighter pen. "Well, this is us," she said, pointing to each as she named them, starting with herself "Kitty, Jubilee, Rogue, Remy… yes that one R E M Y, Kurt, John…" she peered up at the list, "no wait, he's down as St.John…"

"Sinjin?" the bouncer asked.

"No it's written as in 'Saint John'. Yup, there," she said pointing. "Can they go in now?" David nodded, and the others filed past her, adding to the steady stream that had been let in by his colleague, who clicked them in. "Uh, some others are coming later that are already on here, and can I please, pretty please add another person to the list? Her name's Lola."

David wrote the name down on the bottom of the list, and bent down to whisper something in her ear; her real ear, not the cat's ear sticking up out of her hair. "Oh!" she exclaimed slightly, "What really! No way! That is so cool! We should…" Kitty gestured as he continued whispering. "OK, you're absolutely sure, cross your heart and all that jazz, that that's normal?" He nodded, "Ok then, umm, Charles, Jean, Scott, Hank, Ororo and Wolverine."

"Wolverine? That's a name and a half."

"Well, it's not his real name, I mean hey, he arrived as part of a pair with the vampire," Kitty said, pointing into the club at Rogue, who was sitting at the bar, "and Rogue's hardly gonna be the name her mother gave her now, is it? But it's how we know her…them…go figure.

"Anyway, thank you so much! I'll see you later… give me a ring or something, you know where I live!" She stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek, before strolling into the relatively empty club.

"That was fast," the other bouncer said.

Kitty walked to over the bar, the noise and darkness closing in around her like a pungent blanket, where the other's sat on the tall metal stools sipping from bottles. Kitty pulled a face when she saw that the guys and Rogue were drinking beers. Jubilee noticed her expression, and pulled one in sympathy, holding out a bottle. Leaning close to Kitty she yelled over the music "Join me in a girly drink, Chica for your first official boozing. You'll hardly be able to tell that it's not lemonade, I promise." Raising her bottle she hollered: "To the birthday girl!" Everyone clinked their bottle necks together, making the alcohol fizz up.

"And happy Halloween!" laughed Kitty.

The club filled up gradually, noise and heat and smell increasing proportionately, and the party progressed to the dance floor, leaving Rogue and Kurt to prop up the bar, although Kurt was only drinking Coke.

"People keep asking me vat I'm dressed up as," he moaned at Rogue, gesturing expansively with his free hand.

Rogue looked at him askance. "Ya could always ask them what they expected ta happen when Hell froze over," she suggested. "Or tha truth, ya know, whatever works. Ah'm a vampire cos it's kinda true, almost too true for comfort, an' if ah didn't laugh about it, ah'd cry.

She gave him a brief pat on the shoulder "Cheer up, lets people watch, ya know, 10 points for figure, 10 for costume an' an extra 5 for probable personality."

Kurt grinned, his pointed teeth bright under the blacklight, "Vy not. You go first."

"Sure, ok. Only for people we don't know then, 'cos if ah had to do Kitty, she'd get an automatic 10 for figure an' 5 for personality, otherwise she's kill me if she found out! An' ah'd have ta give her 5 for tha costume, 'cos ah was there when she got it. Though while we're on the subject of people we know, what on earth are that lot meant ta be?" Rogue asked, pointing at Remy, Bobby and John.

"I think Bobby is Jack Frost, see he has a vite paper snowflake pinned to his shirt, and John is fire, vith all the reds. Remy vanted to be air, but it seems he's just vearing black…"

"So lame, he always wears black! Ohhh, Kurt look," Rogue squealed, pointing to the entrance of a pair of feathered wings, rather larger than all of the others in the club, which tended to be held on with elastic, held up freely under the high ceiling of the club, "Warren's wearin' a shirt! Lola must have made them for him today!"

"Vat about the game? Do him," Kurt said, pointing with his tail at a guy by the entrance standing with two friends flanking him, who'd just come in and was watching the bouncers, whose large forms filled the doorway, probably dealing with some mouthy drunk or underage kid.

"Sure, well… ah reckon a seven for tha figure from behind, an' a nine for tha costume, ah mean look, he's even got a gangster gun an' white braces! An' his friends playing at being flunkies! An' for personality…" the subject of Rogue's scrutiny turned round, and seemed to catch her gaze for a moment, through the intermittent strobe lighting and smoke. Oh Shit, thought Rogue. Minus fifty million.

"Heyas boozers!" said Kitty suddenly, plonking herself down at the bar. "Kurt, I've come to steal Rogue away, and you too if you want." Kurt shook his head slowly, and Kitty shrugged, turning back to Rogue. "Come on, it's podium time."

"Ya mean ya intend me ta come with ya'll now an' dance around that pole there? How about 'no'?"

"Please? It's my birthday!"

Jubilee appeared on Rogue's other side. "Come on, Chica, no raining on Kitty's parade now."

Rogue allowed herself to be lead off with an apologetic smile at Kurt. "But tha podium's tiny, we won't all fit on, why don't you two have ah go, ah can swap with one of ya later."

Jubilee followed close behind Rogue as Kitty marched ahead, sometimes phasing discreetly through gaps not strictly wide enough for her to pass through. "No dice, Chica. We've thought of that. You crack a glove and splice some of her moves."

Kitty looked back at them, "Yeah! Then neither of us will _need_ any space at all!"

Rogue smiled as the other two laughed. "Ok then, if ya want me ta Kitty, ah'll give it a go."

Logan parked the bike and stood up. The Studio was well advertised, and it had taken him barely any longer to find it by the conventional method of looking at road signs than it would have taken him to follow the smell and noise of frenetic activity. He strode into the open entrance of the dark empty mall, past the locked and shuttered shops. His heavy footfalls echoed through the tiled space as he caught sight of a trio of young men trailing cigarette smoke disappearing around the corner to go up the stairs alongside the multi-storey car park. The three youths were talking loudly, aggressively. Logan dismissed them as unable to hold their drink as he made his way up the stairs which surrounded the lift shaft.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairwell he saw a line of kids, all on one side of a velvet rope, apparently still queuing to get in. There was no sign of the three from downstairs. Logan walked to the front of the line, and entered the arched entrance to the club under the huge neon sign "The Studio" in lurid green. A meaty hand landed on his shoulder, and Logan spun round to face a bouncer who was huge in the horizontal, rather than the vertical sense, standing about as tall as Logan himself. Logan stared pointedly at the man's hand, and then back into his eyes. The bouncer met the prize-fighter's gaze briefly, encountering steel there, and realising that the prudent course of action was to remove the offending hand from the so evidently aggrieved shoulder.

"I'm looking for the party of kid's from the boarding school."

"'Kitty Pryde's Birthday Bash', ya mean?" the bouncer asked.

"I guess so. I'm looking for a vampire."

A second bouncer, more slender, but taller than the first and therefore towering over Logan, came up behind the first as he asked if Logan was on the list.

"Probably not." Logan said, walking past him and into the dark, smoky, strobe lit club.

"You know," said the shorter bouncer, "he looks like a guy I saw in a cage fight up north ages ago. Wolf…something. He was phenomenal, like half the size of everyone else, and undefeated." He clicked a pair of lads into the club as a girl and a boy left, holding an almost comatose girl between them. "Seriously scary dude."

"Hey Fred," said his partner, looking up at the list pinned to the wall, "That fighter's name, was it 'Wolverine' by any chance?"

Fred looked up nodding animatedly. "Yeah, have you seen him? I'd've thought you'd've been a bit young to see him fight."

"No mate, I've not seen him fight, but that Kitty put him on the guestlist." Fred's mouth dropped open. "I bet you're glad you moved that hand, eh?" said David, clapping him on the shoulder.


	8. Gotcha!

Author's note:

Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter, RL here just got a little bit scarier and more pressured, but I'm doing the best I can as is the equally stressed but ever fabulous Hannah.

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Again, thanks for reading and thanks for your feedback! Constructive criticism, gratuitous praise and most things in the middle welcome.

Enjoy!

Xxx

PaintR

**Chapter** **8) **

The driving bass rhythm of the loud music and the shouted conversations of the people around the edge of the dance floor assailed Logan's ears, even as the smoke and alcohol assailed his nose. He forced his way onto the dance floor as the music suddenly changed.

The smoke machines let out huge clouds of dry ice, and the strobe lights flickered on and off. The sudden change brought out a little of the Wolverine, and he started to force his way through the crowd which blocked his view, head swinging from side to side as he listened and smelled for her among so many others. The dancefloor was set down from the bars and seating areas, so Logan had a clear view across the heads of the gyrating dancers, their movements made clipped and edgy by the strobe, any white discoloured and glowing under the UV lighting. He noticed a double flash of bright blue in the corner of his eye and swung his head, catching sight of the pole, set on a raised podium, higher even than the bar area, the feet of the dancers at eye level of the crowd around them. Looking up, Logan saw that the dancers were Kitty and the kid in yellow. He watched as they knelt down, grabbing someone's hands. He felt a jolt as he saw them hoist Marie up to join them on the podium and begin to dance slowly around the pole as if he was watching a series of still photos.

When someone asked him later what the trio had looked like it, it took Logan some time to recall that Kitty looked sweet, dressed as a kitten, with a collar and tail, and Jubilee looked… yellow…very yellow. The two looked, nice, but Marie… she stood out in her vampire costume. The blacklight picked out hidden threads of white in her shirt and stockings, and highlighted her white streaks of hair. And the way she moved. Even chopped into sections by the strobe lighting, which played havoc with the Wolverine's instincts, he could tell that her movements were smooth and graceful. Light bounced off the metal heels of her shoes, and her glowing face. Her eyelashes were long and dark against her skin as she danced, eyes closed, holding onto the pole for support.

Wolf whistles, high pitched and shrill caught his attention, and Logan did not bother to check the growl rising in his throat, or even notice when the crowd immediately surrounding him thinned a little. He studied the crowd around the podium, noticing with alarm that most of them were male, but with a measure of relief when he recognised some of them as Xavier's kids. The pyromaniac kid was with Bobby, so was the demon-eyed Cajun kid who always referred to himself in the third person. Remy. Iceman, he saw with relief was concentrating on Kitty, rather than Marie, although Logan saw Bobby's flickering image pass ice cubes up to all of the girls. God, the kid should not run a handful of ice cubes down her neck and throat like that in public. Definitely not with her red, red lips half open like and her eyes closed. Logan's gaze was trapped on her, and he was only able to look away and scan the rest of the room when a tall man walked straight in front of him, blocking her from view. He turned around, looking for the other X-kids, and looking for any trouble.

Scanning the rest of the crowd he saw Nightcrawler nursing a glass at the corner of the bar, somehow managing to ignore the giant white wing that seemed to keep buffeting him as the angel from the photo in his pocket, (So, it's a mutation, not a prop, thought Logan) made out with some devil girl with spiky short, tomato red hair. Better and better. The wolf whistles cut through his head like a knife, and drew his attention back to the podium. Jubilee, he noticed was subtly adding to the light show, bundles of her little fireworks bursting over the podium. Kitty was yelling something at Rogue, who nodded. Logan watched, amazed as Kitty and Rogue touched cheek to cheek, and began dancing in, around and through the pole and Jubilee. Together the two leapt at the pole and spun round it to the floor, a tangle of long legs trailing. The catcalls came even louder. Logan stepped down onto the dance floor, fists clenched and strode purposefully to the podium. He didn't bother with the semi-polite weaving and ducking, just picked a straight line and kept walking.

The song changed, something fast and poppy came on, and the group on the floor started jumping up and down in time with the music. Logan now had to fight his way towards the podium, making it there before the start of the next chorus. Rogue's contact with Kitty had worn out, and Rogue stopped phasing and started jumping, holding onto the pole for balance with a naked hand. The clunk of a silvery metal heel on the floor beside his head made Logan look up at the podium, and with a hissing exhalation he quickly looked down again. Two words lodged themselves in his brain, and repeated themselves in time to the music. _Stocking suspenders_. He would have words with young Marie about when sexy underwear should be worn.

Some lad, dressed as a gangster, was it one of the ones from downstairs? Logan didn't recognise him, got launched up on the podium with the girls from the other side of the podium. There wasn't really room, and Kitty phased down through the podium to start dancing with Bobby. Rogue yelled something at the boy, and backed away from him, missing her step on those silly…_sexy_… heels, and she started to tumble over the edge.

"Gotcha!" Logan said, fielding her neatly, and setting her upright, his hands on her silk clad arms.

"Damn, that was close! Ah thought ah was a goner! Thank ya'll..." said Rogue, turning around to face him, both her gloves held in her left hand. "Logan!" She squealed, leaping up and wrapping both legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. "Ah missed you so much!" She laid her head on his shoulder, and hugged him tight.

Logan groaned at the contact, and tried not to think of his hand supporting her bottom, or how desperately he wanted her legs to be wrapped around him, only in a slightly more horizontal fashion, or upright, like right now, provided that there were fewer clothes and onlookers involved. He also tried not to think about how his dogtags were currently nestled between her breasts, which were pressed against his chest. He failed miserably on all counts. "Hey kid, are you stable on those heels, or will I have to carry you to the bar?"

"Ah can walk, thank ya. An' ah'm not that heavy!" she whined, misinterpreting his groan.

She dropped to her feet, supporting herself with her hands on his shoulders, before dropping her hands to grasp his. She set off in the direction of the bar, dragging him after her. The bar was practically empty; apparently the jumping song was a popular one. Nightcrawler had gone, and the angel and his girl were too far gone to notice anything. "So kid, what'll it be?" Logan nodded to the bar as they sat down.

"Ah'll have tha same as you, Logan." Her voice rolled over his name like honey. He looked her in the eye, seeing that her smoky eyeliner had started to run, and her face shone with sweat. He felt afraid to breathe or move. She looked like sex on legs.

Marie smiled up at him knowingly, and settled herself on a barstool, playing with her gloves, running them through her hands. "So Logan, what brings ya back ta this neck of tha woods? Are ya back for good, or do ah have ta keep these for a while yet?" She asked fingering the chain around her neck, all emphasis taken out of her words as she shouted over the music.

Logan caught the bartender's eye and pointed at one of the fridges behind the bar and held up two fingers before answering. "Not sure. Perhaps you should hold on to them a bit longer…" her face fell, and Logan added "I wouldn't dream of ruining your outfit. They look good." God, understatement of the year.

Two bottled beers materialised with a thump on the bar top. Logan dug in his jacket pocket and handed a twenty over to the barman. They drank in silence facing forward. Marie's vampire fangs shone blue in the ultra violet lights.

"Ya know, ah need ta talk ta ya…"

"The Professor said you and I should…" They began speaking at the same time, and broke off together.

Marie smiled up at Logan "Ah don't think here is tha place for a serious chat, mah ears are ringin' so it must be gawd awful for ya." she yelled.

They resumed drinking in silence. Marie finished her beer and started to pick at the edges of the label, peeling shreds of paper off, and flicking them into the ashtray.

"No gloves, kid?"

Marie shook her head. "It's sorta complicated. Ah'm still not safe enough to be totally gloveless. An' ah feel very, vulnerable, ya know? Sorta lost. Ah'm glad you're back, ah missed ya," she said, flicking the long black lace gloves over on the bar.

Logan nodded; inside he was imagining telling her how much he had missed her, how glad he was to have been missed.

She lifted her beer to her lips, savouring the smell, then she tipped her head back, and poured the beer into her open mouth, trying to avoid her fangs. She sighed. "Gawd, Logan, wha did ya have ta give me your tastes? D'y'all know how hard it is ta find cigar smoke an' beer an' whiskey when ya live at school?" She smiled at him. "So, when did ya get in?"

"And when are you going again?" slurred a voice from behind Marie, falling into echoing silence as the DJ clumsily switched between songs.

Marie spun round on her stool, staring wide eyed at the cause of the interruption. Logan caught Marie with his left arm as she struggled to clamber off her stool, finding it hard to balance as she frantically rammed her hands into her gloves. Logan didn't miss the way Marie's face turned pale, gaining an ashen cast, nor fail to notice the way she shook against him.

"Beat it!" Both Logan and Marie spoke at once, but Marie's nervous voice was almost completely hidden by Logan's harshly voiced command. Logan stepped between Marie and the boy from outside, black suit trousers, black shirt, and white braces. Drooping cigarette in one hand, beer bottle in the other, the drunk boy no longer looked as dapper as he had earlier.

"Back off buddy," yelled the drunk. "This lady owes me a dance, and last time she welshed on it, setting her mutie freak of a boyfriend on me. This time I'm gonna collect."

"Kid?" inquired Logan with a look over his shoulder. His shoulders square and feet firmly planted, blocking the drunk from Marie, who still clutched at his left hand.

She squeezed Logan's arm. "Please!" Her voice shook so badly that she could only get out one word, but Logan understood, or rather the Wolverine did. Here was a threat to his girl, he could smell it.

Softly shaking Marie's hands from his own, Logan stepped forward and grabbed the drunken boy by the collar, snarling "Piss off" in his ear, before releasing him abruptly. The boy - Richard, according to the noises from the crowd half hidden in the gloom - stumbled backwards into them.

"Hey, relax man," yelled one of the drunk's mates from the gloom beyond the brighter, more constant light of the bar. Richard stood back up, and, pulling himself together, stood up tall, perhaps a little taller than Logan, and stared at him with a murderous gaze.

Logan studied his stance, where he was putting his weight, the bulge in his right trouser pocket. Drunks. Where was this going? "Back off, before you get hurt," Logan said calmly, watching as the young man's weight shifted, and his hand balled into a fist. Knife or punch?

"Hey pops, you piss off, this is between me and her." Richard yelled, jerking his head of mousy hair in Marie's direction.

Logan moved closer to the boy, to within punching distance, "There's nothing between you and her," he snarled, his voice low but not soft, and carrying well in the silence which had descended on the bar area. The young man suddenly swung his left fist at Logan. The Wolverine took over, punching back, so the impact was fist to admantium reinforced fist. The crunch as at least two of the boy's fingers broke was rather satisfying. Rogue's breath caught, somewhere between suppressed hysterical laughter and tears as she remembered how she had seen Logan use that move before, in the cage.

Logan turned slightly, looking at her calmly. "It's ok, kid." Logan saw the bouncers close in on the fight, and the crowd, partly Xavier's students, partly not, shift as they passed through. Flicking his eyes back to the drunk, Logan saw him whip out a flick knife from his pocket. Fun, fun, fun. "Fuck off, the babe's mine, old man."

"No. Wrong again," Logan said grimly, as "snickt" he extended the middle adamantium claw from his right arm. The boy dropped his knife as Logan slowly extended the other two, walking forwards to stand on the blade of the boy's knife. The drunk stared at Logan's fist and the tiny trace of blood visible between his knuckles. He started shaking. Logan was now standing very close to him, "She's mine," he whispered softly.

The young drunk fainted and crumpled to the floor. "Get him out of here!" Logan yelled, turning back to the girl hugging herself by the bar as two more gangsters grabbed the prone form and scarpered.

Logan retracted the claws, and stooped to retrieve the flick-knife. He slid it onto the bar behind him looking at Marie, who seemed not to see him. He realised that someone was talking to him over his shoulder, and looked up to see the taller of the two bouncers.

"Nicely done. My partner there," he nodded at the fat bouncer, "told me you were a pro. That boy's nothing but trouble, but we can't ban him, his father owns the place," the bouncer said, taking the knife off the bar, casually slipping it into his breast pocket. Logan raised an eyebrow, and the bouncer shrugged, grinning.

The crowd behind them dispersed and the noise levels started to pick up again as Logan turned back to Marie. She looked pale. He drew her slight frame into a tight hug. He bent his head down, "Let's get out of here," he whispered. She nodded against his chest.

Logan caught Bobby's eye across the length of the bar, and jerked his head towards the exit. Bobby nodded his understanding, and waved slightly, before heading back to the others.

Logan grabbed Marie gently by the shoulders and moved her back a pace. "You ok?" he asked, as he wiped her face with the pulled down cuff of his sleeve, streaks of mascara marring the dark red fabric. She nodded, and, holding tightly to his hand, followed him out of the club.

At the top of the stairs Logan turned round to look at her. "Are you alright?"

Marie didn't look at him, she took her hand out of his grasp and with her thumbs, unhooked the fangs from her mouth, letting them drop to the floor. "Answer me, kid. Are you alright?" Marie nodded her head slowly, her eyes still shining with tears. The nod turned into a shake, and she leant heavily against the cold tiled wall, hugging herself.

"Ah feel so alone, Logan, so stupid. Ah was cured, an' then ah wasn't, but ah learned ta touch, an' needed to, an' ah was convinced ah could control mahself, and came heah with tha guys about a month ago ta celebrate." Her voice hitched and caught as she fought against her sobs. "An' for a while ah could control it, an' it was great, ya know? Ah was normal again for a while." She sank against the wall, and slid to the floor. "But then that jerk touched me. He said he wanted ta dance, got in close, an' ah couldn't cope with bein' pressed up against a stranger, ah felt claustrophobic, an' lost control."

Her voice halted, as she wiped her eyes with her gloved hands, tears and makeup soaking into the thin fabric. "His mind wasn't a good one. He thought stuff about me; saw me as some whore he could just dance with an' fuck, or something. How could he think me a whore, Logan? Ah've barely evah been kissed." She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears, "Ah have his stupid negative view of me stuck in mah head, and memories of what he wanted. An' ah no it didn't happen, it isn't gonna happen, but he still imagined me an' him… an' ah feel dirty an' stupid."

Logan looked down at her, and grabbed her by the waist and shoulder. "You're not stupid, dirty or alone." He hugged her and moved back, releasing her when he realised that his thoughts, should he happen to encounter skin, might make her feel worse. What if she did only want a protector or big brother? He led her down the stairs and through the gloomy, empty mall. "It's not your fault you end up seeing the filth in that boy's head. I could deal with him more permanently if you want…" he hinted, drawing a small smile out of Marie. God, she's beautiful, he thought.

"Come on," he growled, setting off at a brisk pace for the waiting motorbike outside "let's get you home". He handed her the helmet tied to the handlebars and took off his leather jacket and held it out to her. "You break easier than me," he explained. He closed his eyes momentarily as he saw her wrap herself in his scent, imagining her naked under one of his shirts.

He straddled the motorbike, and felt her climb on behind, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. "Ah'd say you anticipated havin' ta fetch me home, Logan. Bringin' a helmet with ya…" she whispered.

"I only came to collect you, kid," he muttered, half to himself as he felt Marie rest her helmeted head against his back.

"Thank ya," she said, as he kicked off, sending the bike shooting forwards into the night. "Ya always seem ta be savin' mah life, getting' me out of trouble." He could barely hear her over the roar of the bike and the pounding of his blood in his skull. She held tight around his waist, squeezing tightly as the bike leant around a corner.


	9. Tears before bedtime

Author's note:

Please accept my sincere apologies for the lateness of this chapter. If I was a man, I would have said I had a bout of the flu. All things considered, or at least, considering the fact that I am female, I will say that I had a nasty cold, which has thrown everything off kilter.

Many thanks to Hannah - her turnaround time is almost super powered, and her comments are always inspirational.

As always, the disclaimer – I don't own 'em, I'm just giving them a light-hearted, teenybopper outing with a topping of fluff… All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Again, thanks for reading and thanks for your feedback!   
Xxx   
PaintR

**Chapter** **9) **

Logan pulled up in the garage of the mansion, the gates swinging open automatically to welcome Cyclops' motorcycle. Marie led him to the back of the garage, past the cars, pausing to fiddle with the chain to his dogtags; they seemed to have caught on the jacket. She punched a code into the keypad, which beeped softly in response as the door clicked open, and lead him through the connecting door leading into the hallway by the kitchen. The mansion was silent, everyone in bed. Logan walked up the stairs, stopping outside Marie's room. "Let's talk, kid."

"Not now," she whispered, "Ah just wanna curl up an' sleep."

"And give free rein to old ghosts? No Kid, we'll do some talkin'.

"Ah'm used ta it. Your nightmares were no worse than Magneto's. Ya know Erik Lensherr's a Jew? He _remembers_ tha holocaust. He was in a concentration camp, an' his parents were gassed. No wonder he's so angry about bein' persecuted." Her voice was blasé, tinny, and Logan quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Not my nightmares, or Magneto's. I'm talking about your demons." Logan shrugged, "Anyway, I need to come in and get my bag."

Marie opened the door, looking down at the polished wood of the hallway floor as Logan walked through and went to stand by the window, staring out over the basketball courts. Marie sat, perched on the edge of the bed. "So, are ya gonna explain what lead ya into mah room, or why ya took mah photo?" She asked, withdrawing the photo from the offending inner pocket.

"Not until you've done some talking." Logan sat on the windowsill, after pushing a pile of clothes off of it.

Marie brought her legs up, and curled them up underneath her, the ragged points of her handkerchief skirt harshly striking against the pale blue sheets. She tossed Logan's leather jacket over the chair, looking up at Logan.

"Your room looks like a magpie's nest, kid." Marie flushed, he was right; her room was a jumbled mess of bright coloured clothes, shiny scarves and costume jewellery all in chaos. She scanned the room, wondering how on earth she'd made so much mess, until Logan's next words snapped her eyes up to his face. "You look all grown up."

He looked the same as when she had seen him last, wearing what he always wore, jeans, shirt, denim jacket, boots, his hair combed back characteristically. "An' ya haven't changed a bit, Logan. But it's been a long time; there've been a load of changes. There's a new load of kids. Beast's back. We're trainin' harder than evah. Ah went an' got mahself 'cured', then ah got mahself attacked, an ah guess tha mutated X-gene overrides tha cure when it's kill or be killed. So ah ended up doin' tha killin', or as good as, an' sucked up some useful powers an' kept 'em secret, an' learned control an' kept it quiet." Her voice was breezy, and bright, but somehow hollow, the meaning and impact of the words sucked out by her lack of emotion and speed as she rushed through the tale.

"Lola made mah X-suit, ya know." She continued in a bright, conversational tone. "Tha Professor was gonna send me out for tha first time when ah got mah control an' after he had helped me get rid of her voice in mah head, 'thought ah'd be useful, with her powers, ah couldn't hide them from him, an with both you and Magneto in mah head, an' takin' tha powers of anyone out of action, ah guess ah can see how he thought ah'd make tha perfect wild card. But tha nightmares killed mah focus. Hell, Logan, ah knocked the ceiling off tha danger room usin' Scott's power." She looked up at him, tears shining in her brilliant green eyes.

"An then ah feel so low 'cos of him, ya know. As if all tha mutant issues in mah life weren't enough, he comes along an' leaves me mentally broken. Ah find mahself half desperate ta touch people, ta find out if they do think of me like he did or if they even think of me at all, an' half afraid of evah touchin' anyone again.

She got up from the bed, joining him by the window, but staying at a fair distance. "He made me feel like cheap trash, Logan, an' ah can't shake him, he's stuck in mah head. He might as well have raped me, ah saw it all in his head."

"Don't say that, Marie," Logan said softly.

She looked up at him imploringly. "Ah sorta got over Carol by mahself, like ah did with you and Magneto. Tha Professor blocked her from mah mind, an' ah feel guilty, sure, but it was do or die, an' ah didn't even make a choice, it just happened Her body is still alive, and her mind is trapped inside mah own, behind thin walls. Sometimes ah hear her bangin' on 'em, cryin', screamin'. But tha Professor controls her now. Ah can't take those walls down. And he won't take them down 'till he's worked out how ta put her back in her body." Marie turned to face Logan. A cruel smile twisting her lips. "And I have ta confess, ah don't care to much for the idea of settin' her free afta what she did ta me, what she forced me ta do. Hell, for all I know she might grow her powers back, ah might just make copies of 'em, just like even when it doesn't _pull_, ah can still see inside their heads. She's too powerful ta be set free, even if ah am as powerful as her now, I can't control 'em like she can."

Marie turned back to the window. "And here I am, thinkin' like Erik Lensherr does, weighin' up tha options, an choosin' ta save mah own skin." Her breath hitched, and her back hunched, dry sobbing laughter shaking her slight frame, her hands and arms braced rigidly against the window frame. Logan stepped closer, a hand out to draw her close to him, to smother her woes in his embrace, but, before he touched her, she spun round, her hand slapping his arm away, as she hugged herself tightly.

"Savin' mah skin!" she tried to yell, but her throat was hoarse, and the voice that issued forth was low and smoky, the exclamation somewhere between a disgusted statement and painful rhetorical question. "It may have saved me from her, but ah can't shut it off, Logan." Gloved fingers once again soaked up the tears from her face. "Ah can only control it a bit. Direct it. Stop it absorbin'. But with him, his message came through loud an' clear. Ah couldn't tell tha Professor; an' ah started thinkin' ah must have led him on, 'cos that's what ah saw in his mind, that's how he saw me… Ah feel so dirty whenever ah think of it, ah just wish ah could… ah was…" she turned her back to the wall, and slid down to the floor, her breath catching in her throat.

"Please Logan," she sobbed, "please, tell me ah'm worth somethin' even if ah am a useless X-man, an' the un-dateable wonder. Tell me ah'm ok" she sobbed, burying her face in her gloved hands. "Tell me you'd make me better again if ya could. Lie ta me, make it go away for just a moment…"

"I'm sorry, kid…" Logan started, slowly, looking down at her, his face inscrutable.

"Ya can't or ya won't?" She spat bitterly through her tears.

"I can't make you better and I won't lie to you." He leant down, holding her wrists gently and firmly, drawing her to her feet, though she struggled like a wildcat. Here goes nothing, he thought. "I'm not sorry about that, I don't want to change you, kid. I'm sorry that you're upset. I'm not going to tell you what you are, or what to do," he slid his right hand around her waist, leaning towards her, "but I'll show you what I think about you," he whispered, jerked her towards him, pulling her off balance, forcing her close. He ran his free hand through her hair, determinedly, easily guiding her lips to his own.

Her green eyes opened wide in surprise as her lips met his, fluttering closed again as Logan leaned forward, laying her across his arm. Off balance, her hands snapped up to rest on his arms, sliding up to his shoulders, as his left hand supported her head. She sighed into the kiss as Logan felt the pull of her skin start, and fought to loosen his hold on her as she struggled away.

She leant against the cool wall, her hair flying loose and tangled and her eyes unfocused. Her head spun with Logan's thoughts. She saw his perception of her, and blushed. She saw how, subconsciously, he had wanted her since finding her in the trailer of his camper van in Loughlin city. But not like that boy had wanted her. Logan wanted her there, just as she saw him as a guardian figure, Logan wanted her to be something for him to protect, even if she didn't need it. He needed her, even when she yelled at him or ran away, as long as she allowed him to bring her back. She saw how his "big brother" act had kept him at arm's length, but at the same time how pleased, how grateful, he had been when she sought him out after class, and waited up for him after missions. She saw how he had flirted with Jean almost desperately, how he had focused his attention on an _almost_ available woman who would never give in to him; how he used Jean to keep her safe, and how painful it was for him to do so.

Marie saw how he saw her as Marie, rather than the tough, acerbic Rogue she wore on the surface. He had imagined spending long days doing nothing with her, eating with her, chatting, going to the movies, sparring in the danger room, taking long bike trips out to who knows where, going fishing, hunting, teaching her to ride a motorbike, anything to spend time with her. He had even planned how to… have sex… no, make love with her without touching her skin; lots of thin lacy scarves, and stockings. He seemed to have a thing about stockings, and thighs, for that matter.

Rogue's mind reeled with his thoughts, how his lonely travels made him ache for her like an addiction he didn't want to beat, how he had imagined… her cheeks grew hot as she saw images, all cumulating with her screaming his name, her voice harsh, their bodies tired, limbs tangled and glistening with sweat. In her mind she saw him tracing every inch of her body with his eyes, following his thoughts with a finger tracing her photograph.

He looked at her leaning on the wall, waiting for her to respond somehow. Tension showed in his face and posture, his hands clenched at his sides. Her eyes flicked over his body, he could almost feel them, a gentle tingling passing over his skin as she licked her lips. A smile touched her lips and eyes. "Oh, Logan," she sighed, crossing the distance between them in a stride. She dug her fingertips into the muscles of his arms and shoulders as she pressed herself back against him, seeking his lips hungrily. Logan pulled her close, his hands running up and down her back. He ran his tongue between her lips, forcing them apart.

His tongue traced her teeth lightly in her mouth. He tasted the mint of toothpaste or chewing gum on her teeth, and alcohol on her breath. He inhaled her scent, deliciously, unmistakably her, even covered in the smells of alcohol and smoke and sweat. He broke the kiss, and ran his tongue down from the corner of her jaw to the base of her throat, relishing her salty, sweaty taste. She moaned out loud, and he returned his attention to her mouth, painfully aware of his erection as he smelled the new, but unmistakable, scent of her arousal. He growled into the kiss.

She broke the kiss, panting. "Gawd, Logan," she whispered, "ah've wanted that for so long."

"Good. I hope you realise that this won't get you out of talking about all this," Logan declared smugly, pulling her with him as he allowed himself to fall back onto her bed, then flipping her onto her back, pinning her under his bulk, her wrists held beside her head. She nodded, a half smile on her lips. "Shut up and kiss me," she commanded.

Logan quirked an eyebrow, flexing his fingers around her wrists, reminding himself how small and fragile she was compared to his bulk and weight, and leant down slowly, to brush his lips against hers.

A loud crunching of wheels on gravel and the clamour of loud, drunken voices heralded the return of the rest of the partygoers. Marie stiffened, Logan taking advantage of this to pull her closer against his chest.

"Logan," whispered Marie, breaking off the kiss and pressing her hands against his chest "Can we move to your room, tha party's gonna be next door."

As if to emphasise her words the main door swung shut with a bang that echoed through the house, and voices echoed through the halls. Logan's sensitive hears heard the voices and footfalls starting to echo in the stairwell. He stood up, pulling Marie with him. "So kid, how long does this control of yours last?" Rogue shrugged. "Where do you keep the scarves?" he asked. Marie laughed, taking an armful of silk and gauzy scarves out of a drawer.

Logan swept her up in his arms, and carried her quickly down the corridor to his room.

"Logan! Ah can walk!"

"But not fast enough in those silly shoes."

"Dontcha like them?"

"They look gorgeous," he placated her, "a man could have fantasies about a girl in those shoes,"

She giggled as Logan kicked open the door to his room, "And has he?" she asked coyly, already knowing the answer. She kissed him softly on the cheek. He turned his head capturing her lips once more with his own, kicking the door closed again.

Logan dropped her onto the bed. He looked down at her, rumpled and tousled in a tangle of scarves. Leaning over her he hooked the waistband of her skirt with his fingers and drew it down, sliding it slowly over her hips and thighs and gently untangling it from her soft suede boots. He looked over her, black silky knickers, black stocking suspenders running from the stockings to a belt under the corset. He growled deep in his throat.

Carefully he unzipped the silly, sexy boots and slid them off. Perhaps later she should keep them on; let her be in charge. He smiled, his eyes predatory as he ran his hands up her feet, caressing the tiny ankles and firm elegant calves. Reaching her knees she began to squirm, making Logan lean down blowing a stream of air over first one, then the other, his hands on her calves preventing her from wiggling her legs, making her arch her back and moan instead. Delighted with the response he repeated the action, before progressing upward in his exploration of her legs. Toeing off his boots and socks he straddled her lower legs as his fingers travelled firmly over her thighs. Where the stocking ceased he arrived at bare, creamy flesh. He looked her in the eyes, "In control?" he asked. Marie nodded, and Logan, quick as a flash, leant down, running his tongue up the inside of her right thigh. She sighed, a long heavy sigh. He moved up her body, running his fingers over the seams of her knickers. She writhed underneath him.

Moving off her body he pulled her up to a sitting position. She pulled off her shirt with a quick movement, it turned out to be little more than sleeves tucked in the top of the corset, leaving a lovely view of the top curves of her breasts, and the chain hanging down between them. "Mah turn," she declared.

Logan ripped off his shirt and threw it to join his denim jacket on the floor. "That's for free, kid. The rest you need to earn," he growled in her ear, lying back on the pillows, his arms behind his head. Marie leant down and kissed him softly on the lips, then more firmly.

When he started to respond hungrily, sucking on her lower lip, she broke away, kissing his jaw. She licked his earlobe, and then nibbled her way down his neck to his collarbones. He reached up, holding her lightly around her corseted waist. So tiny. She linked her gloved fingers with his, stroking her thumbs over his knuckles then releasing him, running her hands up his firmly muscled arms, and then across his solid chest. She tripped her fingers over his washboard stomach, each muscle clearly defined, and the muscles down his sides as evident as those down the front. She looked down his body. "Ya know, ya shouldn't call me kid if we're gonna do this. Or ah'll remind ya that inside y'all are still an old man, even if ya mutation holds ya in stasis at tha peak," she punctuated her words with tiny kisses on his chest, "of physical perfection." She rested her head on his chest, ka-thump…ka-thump…ka-thump…and then ran her hands inside the belted waistband of his trousers, eliciting a groan as his heartbeat sped up.

"Old man, am I?" He growled, tossing Marie off him. "I'll show you old man!" He flipped her onto her front and _snict!_ He sliced through the laces holding her corset closed and, retracting the claw, ran his hands down her smooth back. He gently traced the angry red line where the corset had pulled tight, massaging her lower back with firm, gentle strokes unable to help noticing her tiny waist, even without the corset, barely wider than his spread hand. Kneeling beside her he slid his hands under her flat stomach, and lifted her up before him. Logan registered the tension in her body before she crossed her still gloved arms over her breasts. He drew her back against his chest in a bear hug, waiting for her to relax. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Ah don't wanna lose control…" she whispered.

Logan kissed the junction between neck and shoulder, his whiskers tickling her skin. "Do you want me to stop?" He repeated.


	10. No more running

Author's note:

I apologise once again for the delay in posting. As I said in my profile, I am rapidly running out of buffer zone, and the exams are closing in. Oh well, such is life!

Hannah doing a great job betaing, despite the unholy amount of stress we are under, and I am very grateful to her as always.

Thank you to the reviewers for their feedback, keeping me focused and critical of my own work, and thus, I submit for your delectation chapter 10. From here on in is where we see some plot kicking off, and it seems that I will have to learn to write action! But we're not quite there yet, but until then, enjoy!

As always, the disclaimer – I STILL don't own the X-men, I'm just borrowing them! All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

Hope you like it!

Again, thanks for reading!

Xxx

Cheers!

PaintR

**  
**

**Chapter 10)  
**

Logan sat on a bench, staring out across the lake into the darkness through thick plumes of cigar smoke. He sighed, heavily. He leant forward, resting his bare arms on his legs, listening intently, then "Beast," his gravely voice broke the silence.

"Wolverine," Hank said, appearing through the haze of smoke. "I'm tempted to tell you that smoking..."

"…is bad for me, I've heard it before," he exhaled a long thin stream of smoke and watched the tendrils drift and spread in the currents of the chilly night air.

The huge hairy man laughed "I was going to say 'makes you stand out in the dark'. Especially since you, my friend, are always healthy… except when you're nearly dead, usually when you've been saving a certain young lady." Beast sat down next to Logan. The poor bench groaned under the weight of the two X-men, one bulkily muscled and surprisingly heavy, the other huge, hairy and heavy.

"Kid can't help it." Logan grunted, still staring out in front of him, seeing the few lights still on in the mansion reflected in the still glassy, water

"She's hardly a kid anymore. She's doing university level studies now. She's technically graduated from the institute."

"She said she blew the roof off the danger room…" quite a feat really. Logan's voice cut through the silence again.

"Yes, everyone was rather surprised. But there's something else there. I mean, everyone's damaged the danger room at some point or another. When Piotr was still here and you and he did that…thing…"

"The fastball special," Logan smiled in memory.

"Yes, that. That was an expensive little manoeuvre." Hank sighed, and waved the cigar smoke away from him with one immense hand.

"Worked 'though," Logan puffed smugly on his cigar, leaning back on the bench. The silence stretched.

"But Rogue has been getting worse since she got her control…"

"I know. But come on, man, it must have been far worse before, it seems Xavier had to tinker in her head to get her over this 'Carol'. I'll get her to talk to me about it. This can't be that bad… anyway I think the worst is over." Logan's night vision picked up Hank's quizzical gaze. "Kid can't really turn off her skin, you know. She only stops it absorbing powers or life force or whatever. It seems to me that unless she's really concentrating, she can't block thoughts, especially ones aimed at her, or about her." Logan blew another stream of smoke out through his nose into the chill autumn air. "Some young punk with more libido than sense and an exaggerated idea of his own importance gave her his objectified opinion of her. No wonder she went to pieces."

"What did you do?

"What I always do. Let her do her thing. Read my mind, suck out my soul. The usual."

"My god man, you've got it bad."

Logan stood up, and then sat down again, nodding, his cigar held in his hand. "Yeah. She was even kind enough to remind me how old I am, might be. I think I'm _at least_ 15 years older than I look, at the conservative end of the estimate, and I reckon I look mid thirties. So at the barest minimum I've got over a quarter of a century on her. It doesn't seem to bother her 'though."

"You seem to have given all this quite some thought. So, why are you out here and not up there? If you don't mind my asking, that is." Beast pointed his thumb over his shoulder, back at the dully lit mansion.

"'Cos she's in my room, and she's young and nervous."

"So you just walked out? Typical, you don't deserve her patience." Beast's voice was half criticism, half amusement, "Although I'm sure she'll appreciate your restraint."

"Give me some credit, man," Logan muttered, dragging on the cigar, now little more than a nub. "I spent a good long time staring at her as she slept first."

"You've really got it bad. You're even _talking _about it, you grumpy, taciturn bastard… and you didn't threaten me for insulting you." Beast stood up, the bench creaking. "I think I should talk to Charles about getting some iron benches…" he murmured. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, Logan, but I think you should probably go up soon." Logan looked at him with the infamous eyebrow quirk as he stubbed out the cigarette under his boot. "Your light's been on since I came out here."

Beast stood in the dark by the lake laughing softly. Who'd have thought that Logan could move that fast?

Logan walked through the doorway to his room, drawing the door closed quietly. Marie was sitting up in his bed, the bedside lamp on, the covers rumpled. She wore one of Logan's shirts buttoned up over her stockings and gloves as a nightie. God, his shirt had never looked so good. "Where'd ya go?" she asked softly, her green eyes soft and dark, as she scooted to the edge of the bed.

"For a smoke, you were asleep," he explained, rolling down the sleeves of his denim jacket and sliding it off, leaving it crumpled over the back of the chair. He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling as Marie shifted to lean against him. He ran a calloused finger down her cheek and lifted her chin. "Were you worried?" he asked as she played with the chain running around her neck. She gave a little nod, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Ah thought ya mighta been runnin' again. Ah had a dream… not one of mah own," she whispered, burying her head in his chest, as he wrapped her in an embrace, his huge muscled arms shielding her from remembered evils.

"You want to talk?" he asked.

Marie heard his voice rumbling in his chest, and smiled, as she shook her head. "No, ah wanna sleep. Ah feel like ah could sleep for a week, if mah dreams would just let me. What about you, don't ya sleep, Logan? Or do ya smoke instead?" She asked, releasing him.

"My bed seems to be taken." He raised an eyebrow at her, his features softening as she patted the bed beside her.

"Ya can come ta bed Logan, it is your bed," she smiled, "but just in tha non-euphemistic sense."

He leant down to her, stroking her hair, "For you, kid, I'll have the patience of stone."

Logan moved away from the bed, stripping down to his boxers, sliding his jeans over his hips, and down his well muscled thighs. He climbed into bed next to her, drawing the covers up over them both. He pulled her around until she rested her head on the pillow of his arm, his other arm pulling her back tight against his chest. "'Night kid," he murmured into the thick dark silk of her hair.

Marie awoke several times in the night, unused to sharing a bed. The first time she awoke she was confused by the ceiling, before she realised, feeling Logan shift against her, that she was not in her room. Logan's body was like a furnace, and she kicked off the covers rather than leave his grasp. He murmured softly in his sleep, and she smiled, nightmares seemed far from him this night.

Later she awoke as he shifted on the bed behind her, pulling her closer against his chest, making her smile. Turning her cheek so that her skin touched the skin of his arms Marie _felt_ for his mind. She felt satisfaction, relief and triumph among the jumbled images in his mind, along with a hint of frustration, and possessiveness with a hint of jealousy. She smiled sadly, empathically. She was so important to him… she just wished that he could see how badly she had ached for him, how her resentment at Jean had been always at boiling point, and how her "relationship" with Bobby had never, not even nearly, felt right.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she turned around, settling her head back on his bicep, carefully blocking her skin from his with her hair. He was lying facing her, his other arm lying across her waist. His hair, messed up from being in bed, was longer than it seemed, with a slight curl. She gently brushed it back from his face with a gloved hand, and looked at his sleeping face. The near permanent frown lines between his eyebrows had softened in sleep and his eyelashes were long and as dark on the hair on his head and jaw. Gently Marie lifted her gloved hand to his face and traced the line of his cheekbone, and then his lips. He murmured, and his eyes flew open. Marie blushed and snatched back her hand, but not before Logan had planted a kiss lightly on her fingertips.

He pulled her closer, dark eyes almost invisible in the room lit only by moonlight from the window which was only half covered by the curtain. Marie's lips tingled, desperate to feel his lips against her own, and she was not disappointed. His lips crushed hers as his arms dragged her against him. Marie's eyes fluttered closed, and she concentrated hard on holding off the pull of her skin. Logan sucked on her lower lip, and her shock broke her concentration, and she broke the kiss hurriedly.

"Ah'm sorry, ah should go." she whispered, embarrassed, as she shifted, ready to run back to her room. She felt Logan's finders flex where they rested at her hips through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"What make's you think I'm going to let you go? I'm not letting you out of my bed." Marie felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, at the mixture of bland statement and blatant innuendo in his voice and was grateful for the darkness of the room, before remembering Logan's night vision, which made her blush more. Logan chuckled, kissing the top of her head, before settling her against his body; this time with one of his legs thrown over her own.

Marie smiled, and pressed herself against him, letting herself fall gently asleep, feeling his regular breathing move her hair and his hand heavy, firm and comforting against her hip.

Just as she drifted off, finally succumbing to her tiredness, she heard him sigh, and whisper, his muted voice rumbling in his chest, "No more running, Marie."


	11. That's fastball, baby

Author's note:

I am so sorry for leaving you in the lurch, and I'll be the first to admit that chapter 10 wasn't the best place to leave off, but real life cracked down on me… But I finished the last of my mock exams two and a half hours ago… so here you go… there is no more buffer zone left, but I'll try to get back ahead… another apology will be for spelling/ style flaws, Hannah the fab has also had exams and extra curricular thingies on this weekend, and so has not had anything beyond the most cursory look at this chapter, it will probably get a beta and re-post early next week, but hopefully it will do to tide you over.

Thank you to the readers for bearing with me, my own hate of well underway wip suddenly left for dead will keep me at this… even if the plot is running away with me… oh well, we'll all find out where it's going together…

As always, the disclaimer – I STILL don't own the X-men, I'm just borrowing them! All credit must go to Marvel, and those people who bought the film rights off them!

So, for your amusement, PaintR Productions bring you the first little hint of action.

Hope you like it!

Again, thanks for reading!

Xxx

Cheers!

PaintR

-----

The cold air of morning awoke Marie suddenly as Logan dragged the duvet off of her. "Wah…uuugh…unnn…" she moaned, clutching at the corner of the duvet.

"Up. Come on," declared the already dressed Logan as Marie shaded her eyes from the bright light of morning. She squinted at the clock on the bedside table.

"Logan!" she wailed "its Sunday mornin'!" She looked at the clock again, arching her back and stretching languidly, "It's seven fifteen on Sunday mornin'." She took a deep breath and yawned, "It's seven fifteen on Sunday mornin', an' ah had a very late night," she elaborated plaintively.

"All the more reason not to let the day waste away. The danger room's waiting, kid. As am I." He looked down at her, smiling. "Five minutes. Dress for a workout."

"But what about mah shower? Ah stink!" She indicated her day old clothing.

"You'll smell worse when I'm done with you." He shrugged, and opened the door for her. "Now, beat it." Marie fixed him with a venomous glare, and flounced out past him, diving down the corridor to her room. There, she quickly scrubbed her face in the washbasin, and stripped out of her old, smelly clothes.

She grabbed her clothes and dressed, combat trousers, running shoes and a sports top, over which she pulled a light net shirt, and, scraping her hair back into a messy ponytail, ran back out into the hall to where Logan waited, leaning on the wall.

She fell into step next to him as he set off down the corridor and pulled on her leather gloves, the ones that Jubilee called her hobo gloves, they weren't fingerless, more finger-tip less, covering her fingers all the way to the last joint. "So, what exactly am ah doin', Logan?" she asked as they wooden panelling finally gave way to the white-walled section of the mansion, and the reinforced door of the danger room.

"Getting your focus back, kid. In, warm up." Logan stood in the corner, typing into the control panel.

"Mah focus?" Rogue demanded, jumping up and down on the spot trying to shake the lethargy out of her limbs.

"Yeah," said Logan, taking off his shirt and throwing it into the corner.

"This is a level eight simulation. Authorisation required," the soft voice of the danger room computer broke the silence that fell in the huge space. Rogue's eyebrows shot up.

"Y'all expect me ta warm up with a level eight? Logan, have you gone nuts?"

"X Logan Alpha: Fight 23," Logan enunciated slowly, lifting his head to the ceiling. Turning back to Marie he smiled. "I'll back you on this one kid. But you're leading."

The hum of the holographic imagers rose as the lighting dropped. Suddenly Marie found herself alone in the middle of a park. No. Not alone. Logan stood to her left, and on the other side there was…

"Oh mah gawd. Logan, it's huge!"

"No breakfast till you take that thing down."

-----

Bobby waited at the foot of the stairs for Kitty and Jubilee to come down to breakfast. He sat on the bottom step, long limbs akimbo, staring vacantly at the blue light blinking discreetly on the door to the viewing area of the danger room as he fought the tinnitus ringing in his ears, aggravating his headache. Eventually the alcohol-fried neurons in his brain managed to fire in the right sequence and he realised that the high pitched buzzing was in fact linked to the fact that the danger room's occupied light was flashing on, and that, logically, someone inside was running a simulation. Remarkably pleased with these conclusions he decided to go and have a look, and then completely failed to stand up.

Pulling himself up from the floor was difficult, first he used the steps and then leaning heavily on the banister he levered himself, slowly, back to his feet and set off, slowly, across the corridor. Listening intently he heard rhythmic thumping and grunts coming from inside the danger room. Suddenly a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He swung his head round sharply, and then groaned as the world slipped out of focus and then snapped back, the blurs across his field of vision resolving into the form of Kitty.

"God, you scared me," he whispered.

"Whatcha doing?" She asked liltingly, grabbing hold of his arm and leaning heavily on him.

"Trying to work out what's going on…" he murmured, still staring at the door.

"Yeah, who'd be in the danger room at 9 on a Sunday?" asked Jubilee. Bobby did a double take.

"Where'd you come from?"

Jubilee rolled her eyes at Kitty, who giggled. "You might hung over, chica, but this one still seems drunk."

"So who's in the danger room then?"

All three pressed their ears to the joints of the airlock style door, discreetly disguised as wood panelling, listening for signs of life from the inside.

"Come on, put some effort in!" a male voice yelled, hoarse and harsh.

"Mmm fockin' trying," a woman snapped back

"Harder," he ordered, above the rhythmic thumping.

"Aaaaagh!"

"Again"

"Ugh"

"More!"

"You… ugggh …. Ah'm… tryin!'"

"Come on, kid!"

A crowd of X kids was, by this time gathered around the door, behind the trio, looking curiously at them, and how illogically they were grouped. Jubilee was kneeling on the floor, and Bobby was bending low to put his ear at keyhole level, with kitty straining on tiptoe to place her head above Booby's. Suddenly the three eavesdroppers heard the woman scream something, angrily, the words mixed up by the machinery running the simulation and a long wordless howl, followed by a quick shouted curse and an almighty crash and a thump.

Kitty, startled by the noise overbalanced, and clutching at the other two for balance, but to little avail, phased all three through the door, short circuiting it so that it shot open, and the X-kids behind saw the trio in a pile on the floor, in front of the remains of an immense robot.

Silence.

Then there was a sudden flurry of noise, screams and laughter mixed as the kids scrambled to breakfast, or perhaps just away, seeing an angry, bleeding Logan rise from the pile of rubble.

-----

Logan watched Marie dodging the energy bolts being spat out by the sentinel, dodging closer and closer with each move, aiming to get close enough to attack it hand to hand. She punched and dodged, and kicked and dodged, Logan yelling advice and encouragement as she snarled back at him after every comment. Suddenly a blast caught her and she was knocked back. The rhythm broken, silence fell as Logan hefted her to her feet and pulled her behind one of the defensive walls. Marie looked furious. Nearly there, Logan thought, make her snap, work her through whatever it was blocking her…ahem…powers. "Take control. Stop reacting, act. You're plan doesn't work, get a new one." Logan said harshly. The room faded back into silence.

Marie, no, Rogue's eyes flashed fire, and she drew herself up, sweeping her hair back and staring him full in the face. Logan noticed, although she appeared not to, that, in standing up straighter, her feet had actually left the floor, and she was in fact floating about four inched off the floor. She was now in the Sentinel's line of fire, and dodged the blasts, this time by swooping out of the path of the bolts. The chaos and destruction began again, and she turned back to Logan "FINE!" she screamed "HOW ABOUT AH USE YOUR THICK HEAD TA BREAK IT?"

Without warning she grabbed Logan by the wrist and spun around, whipping him around her like a hammer, releasing him in the direction of the giant robot.

"Holy Sh…" was all Logan had time for before he slammed into the machine's midsection. With a crash Logan impacted the machine and it burst into pieces, which tumbled to the floor.

Silence fell, and then the door slid open. Marie floated, chest heaving, scratched and bruised and angry, looking at Kitty, Bobby and Jubilee who were in a pile on the floor.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" yelled Logan, fighting his way out from beneath the pile of rubble.

"Door open. Safety protocols engaged. End simulation," the emotionless voice of the computer announced to the room, as the rubble disappeared, leaving Logan standing alone in the middle of the room, the three youths in a pile in front of him. The crowd of kids outside the open door ran away screaming, the deep scratches and bruises on his naked torso healing up as Marie watched.

The comical sight of her friends attempting to stand up, as well as her feelings of elation that she had defeated Logan's simulation and relief that he was all right, had restored Marie's good humour. She looked at him, her eyes raking up and down his muscled form. He stared back at her, raising one laconic eyebrow and shrugged.

Moans from the floor made Logan turn around stare at the trio getting up from the floor. "Hey…" said Bobby, looking confused.

"Go away," snapped Logan.

"Uh yeah," said Kitty, giggling nervously, "sorry to interrupt, we'll just be going…" Kitty turned to Jubilee and Bobby and started to usher them out.

Bobby was staring, confused, at Logan, "Weren't you a robot a moment ago?" Logan frowned at him.

Jubilee, on the other hand, was staring at Rogue. "Uh, chica?" Marie looked down at her. "You do know you're floating, right?"

Rogue stared at the floor, her face shocked. Suddenly she was falling, and landed on the floor on her bottom with a bump. "Ohhhh," she moaned, getting up slowly, rubbing her backside.

Logan strode round to help her up. "OUT!" he yelled at the bemused trio, who obeyed quickly. "Here, crack a glove, kid."

Marie smiled gratefully and touched her fingertips lightly to his arm, feeling the pull begin. She focused on the pull, keeping it slow, imagining a wad of cotton wool between _him_ and _her_ so that _he_ didn't come through her skin too much. The pulsing veins of energy stood out against his densely muscled forearm and into her fingers. She felt the energy like rivers running under her skin, the healing power knowing where it was wanted, even though she didn't. Logan's eyes fluttered closed and Marie felt _he_ was about to break through her imagined barrier and snatched her fingers back.

She stood back, and Logan shook his head, smiling at her before reclaiming his shirt.

"So do ah get mah breakfast now?" Rogue asked as they left the danger room.

"Well, technically, _I_ was the one taking down the robot…"

"Hey!?"


	12. Sugared poison

And here is the conclusion. Plot gave way to fluff in the end, and I've been busy with exams and writing, shock, horror, my own original stuff, which may, one day make it into novel form, but most likely not, as well as a spot of labyrinth fanfic which will be uploaded soon.

Sorry for the delay, all.

PaintR xxx

And so life at the mansion took on a new dynamic. Marie spent the nights in Logan's room, and Logan spent the mornings in a cold shower. The students got insulted and bruised and belittled by Logan in the danger room and gymnasium for PE and combat training, and in the studio for, of all things, art. Bruised mentally, that is, in art class.

"God," Kitty collapsed onto the floor in the TV room, "I am too exhausted even to make it to the bathroom to shower before dinner." She declared, wearily. "I swear, Rogue, if he gets any more intense I'll just spend the whole session phased through a wall."

"Hey there, no complainin', Kitts; how ever hard he is on ya'll, Ah'm sure he takes more out on me. Only difference is he lets me use mah power on him when ah'm done, so ah don't bleed ovah tha floor."

"You mean you have to fight him claws out!?" Kitty exclaimed.

"Ya mean ya don't?" Rogue looked up.

"Roguie, sweetie, tell me he doesn't attack you with his claws." Kitty said, carefully enunciating each word.

"He doesn't _attack_ me with his claws." Rogue stared Kitty firmly in the eye, "But he pops them out every now and then. If he thinks ah'm not payin' enough attention."

Kitty's eyes boggled. She made a couple of abortive attempts at enunciation, before giving up entirely, and just making a flapping circular gesture with her hands. Rogue interpreted this rather well.

"Be sensible, sugah, ah don't bruise easily. Not since ah've learned ta use what ah stole."

Kitty shrugged. "I guess… so anyway, why is he so grouchy anyway?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Ah'll tell ya when y'all are older."

Kitty frowned at her, and then her face cleared and she blushed. "Ah, yeah, right… sorry. Forget I asked…" she stood up slowly, stretching, and turning round found herself face-to-chest with the topic of conversation. "Hey, uh, umm, you know what, I'm gonna leave and see if I can fit in that shower before dinner…" Kitty sidestepped Logan, and waving nervously, took off up the stairs two at a time.

"If she can still run like that, she hasn't been workin'"

"Be nice, Logan," her honey voice made him grit his teeth.

"Nice?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Me?" He reached down to help her to her feet, and answered the worried look on her face "I'm goin' stir crazy here, there's no beer."

"You said no more runnin', Logan, but we could always go for a ride. Yeah?"

Logan grabbed the ends of the scarf hanging loose over her shoulders, and used it to draw her closer to him. She arched against him, as his hand shifted to the small of her back hand his head lowered to hers.

"Hey, Rogue, its dinner…" Scott's hand snapped up in front of his face as he walked into the TV room. "You know what, never mind." He backed slowly out of the room, his face going as red as his sunglasses. "Neither of you had any idea I was just in the room with you for a moment there, did you?" he asked rhetorically to the air as he walked to the dining room and sat down next to his wife.

"Where's…?" Jean began to ask.

"Just… don't…" Scott murmured, dropping his head to his hands. "I just got my bike back, and I have this sinking feeling…"

Drawing away from Logan, Marie grabbed her little leather jacket from the back of the settee. "Shall we blow this joint, sugah?" She grinned wickedly, and grabbed his hand, and they ran out of the big doors and round to the garage.

The machine, lovingly retuned by Cyclops, thrummed beneath them. Marie's arms held him tight, and she was resting her cheek against his shoulder as he turned off the engine, and kicked the stand down.

They walked into the bar, arms around each other's waists, a striking, but matched couple. Bright blue jeans, leather jackets and boots on each of them, it was their faces though, where the real comparison lay. The barman stared, his expression as easy to read as a book; jailbait and a pervert. Logan saw, and glared at him, before sitting down at the bar. "Two beers." He slapped down a note.

The barman started to ask for ID, and Rogue laughed, staring him in the eye. "Sure ah got ID, ah just don't wanna show it to y'all."

"Kid," growled Logan.

"Fine, rain on mah parade why dontcha." She flicked a card onto the bar top as she grabbed the unopened beer, and wrenched the cap off with just her fingers, and very little effort. She raised an eyebrow at Logan, before taking a swig of her beer, smiling a challenge at him.

He snicked out a claw and took off the top of the bottle, lid still attached.

"Show off," she grinned as the barman backed away.

"No need to get irritating', you don't need to offend people."

"An ah'm meant to learn that from you Logan?" She leaned against his shoulder.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Her eyes softened suddenly, and she kissed him deeply, slowly, trying to reassure him with her touch that he made her feel invincible. He pulled away. "What's wrong?" she asked as she sifted through the thoughts and images left by his mind in hers.

"I found out some stuff about my past up north. I'm not… I'm not the sort of person, or I don't think I am the sort of person who…"

"Don't y'all dare Logan, don't y'all _dare_ go there. Ah don't care who y'all were before the claws. Ah don't care what ya real name is, how old y'are or where you've been. I don't care who y'all wore. 'Cos right now, you're here, an' ah can tell ya that ah'm here, an' ah'm not goin' anywhere and nor are you. Ah had a dream about the procedure, tha claws. You volunteered for tha procedure, but they lied to y'all, abused your trust and stole ya memories. Their procedure was wrong, but they didn't destroy you, or change who y'are inside. They just let out the real you, Logan.

"Ah know who y'are, even if ya don't. And you don't get ta decide what's best for me. Ah do. If you run, ah'll follow, just like y'all came after me. An ah chose a long time ago, back when ah thought y'all were in love with Jean, ah still chose you. There's too much of y'all in mah head for me ta care about someone else, so don't kid yourself that ah can just move on, 'cos ah can't. Ah'm stuck with y'all, and y'all are stuck with me."

Logan sat still, staring at his now empty, decapitated beer bottle. "Oh."

"OH? That's all y'all gotta say? After ah go and…" but Marie never got to finish her tirade, his big hands pulled her over to him, and crushed her against him. She felt the felt the full force of his emotion flowing between their lips, and she moaned against him. Love, lust, possession, pride, belonging, she saw the images that had made her blush before and now they made her hungry for him. "Oh yes, Logan, please, yes."

Neither of them remembered the journey back to the mansion, or the climb up the flights of stairs and down the corridors to Logan's room. For all they knew, Nightcrawler could have bamfed into the bar and teleported them home.

Marie fell back onto the mattress still clinging onto Logan's shirt, forcing him down on top of her. In a tangle of limbs, somehow they managed to loose their shoes and leather jackets without breaking that long, hot, ravenous kiss. Marie felt his strong biceps against her sides, and the force of his hands at her back, holding her too him. She knew that, if she had wanted to escape it would take all her stolen strength, but she surrendered to him willingly, holding him as tight to her as she could.

She moaned at the pressure as his legs slid between her thighs, and then again in frustration as the unforgiving fabric got in the way. "Too many clothes," she whispered breathlessly.

With an effort Logan sat back onto his heels, and stripped down to his boxers. "For me maybe," he growled, voice rumbling in his chest, "but I'm keeping you covered, Marie darling, 'cos I swear that there is no way in hell that you are keeping in control tonight."

"Well y'all know, mah underwear was, uh, planned." Logan's expressive eyebrow shot up, and before she knew it, Marie was stripped down to her body stocking, and Logan's mouth found her neck and he kissed and nipped gently at her skin, growling.

"Please Logan," Marie murmured, nearly incoherent with lust, tracing her gloved fingers over his shoulders and back.

The bed creaked as Logan shifted his weight, and began to run the fingers of his right hand up and down the insides of her thigh. "Please what?" he asked softly, deep voice rumbling. "Please this?" he suggested, moving his hand to press down on her Venus mons. She moaned, and arched her back, "Or please something else?"

----

"Alice Cooper." Logan announced to the ceiling.

Marie stretched on the bed next to him, rolling over to rest her cheek on his heavily muscled arm. "What's that, sugar?"

"I just remembered. Alice Cooper. He's the guy who sings that song 'Poison'"

Marie stared up at him in the morning light, brushing her hand lightly over his forehead, moving a lock of hair off his face. "What an odd thing ta bring up."

"Do you like it?"

"Ah love that song. Great guitar. Why, do ya like it?"

"I hate it."

She laughed, and hit him with a pillow. "So why d'ya bring it up?"

"I stopped for the night at a bar, on my way home."

Marie interrupted him with a kiss, "You just said home," she whispered softly, a smile curling the corners of her lips. He grinned up at her, and kissed her back, sucking on her lower lip. "So, you were on the way home…" she prompted gently.

"I'd been on the road for a long time… the barman put it on the jukebox. It made me think. I got back on the bike, and must have crossed two state lines before I stopped again for any longer than it took to fill up with gas. It reminded me of you, of us." Marie, eyes shining, levered herself up on her elbow, and lying across his chest, kissed him very softly on the lips.

"Ah'm not poison anymore, or at least not all the time."

"But I still want to… what is it, 'I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.' I'd do anything to hear you say my name. And I'm only tellin' you this, kid, 'cos you're touchin' me and would find out anyway." He added gruffly. "I love the way you say my name."

"Logan," she smiled, and she saw how his name sounded though her lips to him. The first syllable long and low, dripping honey, the second light and short and strong. "You don't have to hurt me to make me say your name. But I do know a very good way for you to make me scream it."


End file.
